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CHIMES FOR CHILDHOOD. 



A COLLECTION OF 



SONGS FOR LITTLE ONES. 




t--^ 



^J^^U^ I ^^t^ 



WITH TWENTV ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY BIREET FOSTER, MTLLATS, AXD OTHER EMiyEXT ARTISTS. 



BOSTON: 
LEE AND SHEPARD. 




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1S68, by 

D A X A E S T E S , 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



ELECTBOTTTED AT THE BOSTON STEBEOTTTE rOtnST)BY, 

No. 19 Spring Lane. 



Tresswork by John Wilson and Son. 



— 

CO 



N 

^ 



DEDICATED 

TO 

MAr JACKSON, 

OF ST. LOUIS, JIO., 

ONE OF MY EARLIEST AND WARMEST FRIENDS 

AMONG THE '-LITTLE FOLKS" FOR 

WHOM IT IS PREPARED. 





PREFACE. 




i"'^;M N offering tliis compilation to the public, the 
J^a. 6<^itor does not deem an apology necessary, 
as there can be no question as to the value 
of Poetry in the education and refinement of 
children. The only question which arises is, What kind 
of poetry shall we place in our children's hands to enter- 
tain and instruct them? Some collections of children's 
songs consist mainlj' of verses, whose authors seem to 
think that any lack of beauty and rhythm may be made 
up by a " moral and application " well enforced ; and 
others apparently believe that anything that has rhyme 
and jingle to it is good enough for children. A third 
class, going to the opposite extreme, exclude all not 
coming up to their standard of excellence as " best 
poems of the language." One of the most ambitious 
of the latter, claiming to contain " nearly all the 
genuine poetry in our language fitted to please chil- 
dren," has excluded " nearly all verse written for chil- 
dren, and most of the poetry written about children." 
In the compilation of this volume, the editor has en- 
deavored to avoid extremes, and, while rejecting all 
puerile and unmusical Verses, to keep in mind the fact 
(7) 



8 PREFACE. 

that he is catering to youthful and undeveloped minds, 
and that the true end of poetry is to refine the taste, 
quicken the imagination, strengthen good aspirations, 
and make the heart of the reader more reverent as 
w^ell as more mindful of its duties to others ; in short, 
to make one less selfish, and, consequently, more hap- 
py. To this end he has selected a large number of 
acknowledged favorites, and confined himself mainly to 
well-known authors ; and while he has chosen several 
pieces not so well known to fame, he has endeavored 
to choose none but those containing some poetic excel- 
lence. The devotional poems were chosen with the 
view to making them acceptable to all Christians, of 
whatever name or denomination. 

In order that the volume might be more entertaining 
and useful as a book for presentation, it has been em- 
bellished with an unusually large number of illustra- 
tions and page ornaments; and the fact that they are 
from the pencils of Millais, Birket Foster, and W. H. 
Rogers, is a sufficient guarantee of their merit. 

The editor acknowledges his indebtedness to Messrs. 
Ticknor & Fields, and other publishers, and the authors 
whom they represent, for their kindness in allowing 
him to use pieces of which they own the copyright. 

Trusting that both Chimes and Pictures may please 
the " Little Ones," and that they are not without merit 
enough to receive the approbation of some " children 
of a larger growth," the editor offers them to a dis- 
criminating public, knowing they must stand or fall on 
their merit alone. 

D. E. 

Dorchester. 1868. 




CONTENTS. 



The Child and the Piper. . 

The Baby Soldier 

Little Birdie 

Song 

Softly, softly Little Child. 

Stalky Jack 

What the Birds say. . . . 
If I were a Sunbeam. . . . 

A Mother's Song 

The Fly 

Lullaby 

Baby Bunn 

The Children's Hour. . . 
An Evening Prayer. . . . 
Little White Lily. . . . 

Little Effie 

I want to be an Angel. . . 

Evening Hymn 

Temperance Song 

What is that, Mother.^ . . 
The Better Land 

(9) 



W. Blake. . . 
Pacific Monthly,. 
Te7inyson. . . 
Shakespeare. 
Jiclie Leo7iard. 
Lilliput Levee. 
Coleridge. . . 
JLucy Larcom, . 
Alexajider Smart. 
Theodore Tilton. 
Mary Forrest. . 
Home yournal. 
H. W. Longfellozv 
Fr 0771' the Ger77ia7.i 
G. Macdo7iald. . 
Carrie D. BroTVTt 
A7io72y7nous. . 
M. Lu7idie Du7ica7i 
E. P. Hood. . 
Bishop Doa7ie. . 

A7l07iy77l0US. » . 



page 

• 13 

• 15 

• 17 

• ^9 
. 20 
. 21 

• 23 

• 24 

• '5 

. 27 

• 30 

• 32 

• 33 

• 37 
. 38 

• 39 

• 41 

• 43 
. 44 
. 46 
.48 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Wee Willie Winkie. . . . Scotch Nursery Songs. 50 
Learx your Lesson. . . . William Miller. . . 52 

Good Night Anonymous 53 

Seven times One 'yea7i Ingelovj. ... 54 

The Boy that loves a Baby. Lillfut Levee. . . 56 

Good Night Mrs. Follen. ... 59 

IvIy Beautiful Huntress. . Lilliput Levee. . . 61 

Casabianca Mrs. F. Hemans. . . 63 

Hope y. G. Whittier. . . 65 

The Fountain yames Russell Loxvell. 66 

The Pride of Youth. . . . Sir Walter Scott. . 68 
!Mary's Little Lamb. . . . Songs for Children. . 69 
Young Lochinv'ar. .... Sir Walter Scott. . 'ji 

Spring-Time. W. Wordsxvorth. . . 76 

Baby and jSIaminia Anonymous 77 

Polly LtlUput Levee. . . 78 

The Little Baby Anoiiymous 81 

Give Adelaide A. Proctor. 83 

Christmas Song Julie Leonard. . . 85 

Rock me to Sleep Mrs. Akers 86 

The jNIountain Torrent. . Charles Mackay. . . 88 
Sleeping and Watching. . Mrs. E. B. Browning. 91 

Annabel Lee Edgar A. Poe. ... 93 

The May Queen Tennysoti 96 

The Father's Knee. . . . James Balla?ityne. . loi 
Creep before you Walk. . James Ballantyne. . 104 

God is Good Ano7iymous 106 

Longing James Russell Lozvcll. 107 

The Baby Mrs. L. E. Akerman. 109 

Green Rlver Wm. Cullen Bryant. 110 

To the Lark Ationymous 113 

A Visit OF Santa Claus. . Clement C. Moore. . 114 



CONTENTS. 



II 



->0>»:JC 



Industry. , 

Baby's Letter to Uxcle. 
Rain in Summer. . . 
Deeds of Kindness. 

My Dolly 

Your Mission. . . 
The Rivulet. . . • 

A Lullaby 

The Reconciliation. 

Labor 

The Barefoot Boy. 
A Cradle Elegy. 
Prince Phillibert. . 
The Captain's Daughter. 
A Child's First Letter. 
Sweetly Solemn Thought. 

Little Things 

Love of Country. . . . 
Love thy Mother. . . . 
A Song of Peace. . . . 

New England 

A Mother's Joys. . . . 
Buttercups and Daisies. 
The Origin of Dimples. . 
To my Godchild, Alice. . 
Barbara Frietchie. . . 
Little Children. . . . 
The Little Brother. . . 

The Organ 

Cradle Song 

Life's Work 

My Brother 



page 


From the German. . 


1 20 


Harper's Weekly. . 


121 


H. W. Longfello-oj. . 


123 


Songs for Children. . 


128 


Lilliput Lex'ee. 


130 


Ellen H. Gates. . . 


132 


Lucy Larcom. . . . 


135 


From the German. 


137 


Alfred.Tennyson. . . 


13S 


Mrs. F. S. Osgood. . 


139 


J. G. Whittler. . . 


142 


From the German. 


145 


Lillipiit Levee. . . 


146 


James T. Fields. . 


150 


Household Words. 


152 


Alice Cary, . . . 


157 


A?i07iymous. . . . 


159 


Sir Walter Scott. 


160 


Thomas Hood. . 


162 


H. W. Dulckc7i. . 


165 


John G. Whittier. 


167 


William Fergursoit. 


169 


Anonymous. . 


171 


C. A. Briggs. . . 


173 


Mrs. Mulock (Craik) 


175 


J. G. Whittier. . 


177 


Mary Hoivitt. . . 


181 


Lilliput Levee. . . 


183 


Lilliput Levee. . . 


1S5 


Samuel Burnhani. 


187 


Anonymous. . . . 


189 


Jane Taylor. . . 


190 



12 



CONTENTS 



My Sister Anonymous. . 

Clean Clara Lilliptit Levee. 

The Pedler's Caravan. . » Lillipzit Levee. . 

God's Goodness From the German 

Birdie, Birdie. . ' . . . . Wm. AlUngham. 
Slumber on, Baby dear. . . H. C. Wafson. . 

A Wood-Note Howitt. . . . 

Easter Carol. . . . . . Anonymous. . . 

Baby. Part I LilUput Levee. 

Baby. Part II. .... . LilUput Levee. 

Weariness . H. W. Longfello-w 



page 
191 
193 

195 
196 
197 
199 
200 
202 
203 
205 
207 




THE CHILD AND THE PIPER. 

Piping down the vallej's wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a child, 

And he, laughing, said to me, — 

'■Pipe a song about a lamb!" 
So I piped with merrv cheer; 

"Piper, pipe that song again!" 
So I piped — he wept to hear. 

''Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; 

Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" 
So I sang the same again, 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

'' Piper, sit thee down, and write 
In a book, that all may read ! " 

So he vanished from my sight, 
And I plucked a hollow reed, — 

And I made a rural pen, 

And I stained the water clear, 

And I wrote mj- happy songs, 
Every child may joy to hear, 

W. Blake. 

(13) 




THE BABY SOLDIER. 




NOTHER little private 
Mustered in 
The army of temptation 
And of sin. 



Another soldier arming 

For the strife, 
To fight the toilsome battles 

Of a life. 



(15) 



l6 THE BABT SOLDIER, 

Another little sentry 

Who will stand 
On guard, while evil prowls 

On every hand. 

Lord, our little darling 

Guide and save, 
'Mid the perils of the march 

To the grave ! 

Pacijic Monthly. 





LITTLE BIRDIE. 

HAT does little birdie say 
In her nest at peep of day? 
" Let me fly," says little birdie ; 

"Mother, let me fly away." 

" Birdie, rest a little longer, 

Till the little wings are stronger." 

So she rests a little longer ; 

Then she flies away. 




What does little baby say 
In her bed at peep of day? 
Baby says, hke little birdie, 
"Let me rise and fly away." 
"Baby, sleep a little longer. 
Till the little limbs are stronger : 
Baby, too, shall fly away." 

Tennyson. 
2 (17) 




U?ider the greemvood tree 

Who loves to lie tvith me. 

(18) 




SONG. 




NDER the greenwood tree 
Who loves to he with me, 
And tune his merry note 

Unto the sweet bird's throat, 

Come hither, come hither, come hither; 

Here shall he see 

No enemy. 

But winter and rough weather. 



Who doth ambition shun, 

And loves to live in the sun, 

Seeking the food he eats, 

And pleased with what he gets. 

Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 

Here shall he see 

No enemy, 

But winter and rough weather. 

Shakespeare. 
(19) 




SOFTLY, SOFTLY, LITTLE CHILD. 




OFTLY, softly, little child ; 

Do not wear that angry brow ; 
Do not speak that naught}^ word ; 
Angel-steps are near thee now. 



Softly, softly, little child; 

Drive thy passions far away, 
And thv angel visitants 

Close will fold their wings and stay 

Softly, softly, little child; 

Drop the penitential tear : 
Angels catch it ere it falls — 

Bear it up to heaven from here. 

Softly, softly, litde child, 

Are the songs of angels blent : 

Joyous are the strains above 

O'er the child that doth repent. 

yulie Leonard. 
(20) 




STALKY JACK. 




KNEW a boy who took long walks, 
Who lived on beans and ate the 
stalks ; 

To the Giants' country he lost his way ; 
They kept him there for a year and a day ; 
But he has not been the same boy since ; 
An alteration he did evince ; 
For 3^ou may suppose that he underwent 
A change in his notions of extent ! 



He looks with contempt on a nice high door, 
And tries to walk in at the second floor ; 
He stares with surprise at a basin of soup ; 
He fancies a bowl as large as a hoop ; 
He calls the people minikin mites ; 
He calls a surloin a couple of bites ! 
Things having come to these pretty passes, 
They bought him some magnifying glasses. 

(21) 



22 STALKY JACK. 

He puts on the goggles, and said, " My eyes ! 
The world has come to its proper size ! " 
But all the boys cry, " Stalky John ! 
There you go with your goggles on ! " 
What girl would marry him — and quite 

right — 
To be taken for three times her proper 

height ? 
So this comes of taking extravagant walks, 
And living on beans and eating the stalks. 

L{lli;put Levee. 




WHAT THE BIRDS SAY. 



■>>^c 




O you ask what the birds say ? 
The sparrow, the dove, 
The linnet and thrush say, "I 

love, and I love ! " 

In the winter they're silent, the wund is so 

strong ; 
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud 
song. 
But green leaves and blossoms, 
And sunny warm weather, 
And singing and loving 
All come back together. 
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and 

love. 
The green fields below him, the blue sky 

above, 
That he sings, and he sings, and forever 

sings he, 
" I love my love, and my love loves me." 

Coleridge. 
(23) 




IF I WERE A SUNBEAM 



\ia aki/^A 



F I were a sunbeam, 
I know what I'd do : 
I would seek white Hhes 

Rainy woodlands through ; 

I would steal in among them ; 

Softest light I'd shed, 

Until every lily 

Raised its drooping head. 



If I were a sunbeam, 
I know where I'd go — 
Into lowliest hovels, 
Dark with want and woe ; 
Till sad hearts looked upward, 
I would shine and shine ! 
Then they'd think of heaven, 
Their sweet home and mine. 

(24) 




A MOTHER'S SOJSTG. 25 

Art thou not a sunbeam, 
Child, whose life is glad 
With an inner radiance 
Sunshine never had ? 
O, as God hath blessed thee, 
Scatter rays divine ! 
For there is no sunbeam 
But must die or shine. 

Lucy Larcom, 



— M5^ 



A MOTHER'S SONG 



H, come now, my darling. 
And lie on my breast, 
For that's the soft pillow 
My baby loves best : 
Peace rests on thine eyelids, 
As sweetly they close, 
And thoughts of to-morrow 
-Ne'er break thy repose. 



26 A MOTHER'S SONG. 

What dreams in thy shimber, 

Dear baby, are thine ? 

Thy sweet hps are smiling, 

When pressed thus to mine. 

All lovely and guileless 

Thou sleepest in joy, 
And Heaven watches over my beautiful boy. 

Oh, would thus that ever 

My darling might smile, 

And still be a baby 

My griefs to beguile ; 

But Hope whispers sweetly, 

" Ne'er broken shall be 
The tie that unites my sweet baby to me." 

Alexander Smart. 





THE FLY, 



-=5^53®-: — 




ABY BYE, here's a % : 

Let us watch him, you and L 
How he crawls up the walls — 
Yet he never falls. 

I believe, with those six legs, 

You and I could walk on eggs ! 

There he goes, on his toes, 

Tickling Baby's nose ! 

Spots of red dot his head : 
Rainbows on his wings are spread ! 
That small speck is his neck ; 
See him nod and beck ! 
I can show you, if you choose. 
Where to look to find his shoes ; 
Three small pairs, made of hairs — 
These he always wears. 

(27) 



28 THE FL r. 

Black and brown is his gown ; 
He can wear it upside down ! 
It is laced round his waist; 
I admire his taste. 
Pretty as his clothes are made, 
He will spoil them, I'm afraid. 
If, to-night, he gets sight 
Of the candle-light ! 

In the sun webs are spun : 
What if he gets into one ? 
When it rains he complains 
On the window-panes. 
Tongues to talk have you and I ; 
God has given the little fly 
No such things ; so he sings 
With his buzzing wings. 

He can eat bread and meat ; 
See his mouth between his feet ! 
On his back hangs a sack. 
Like a pedler's pack. 
Does the Bab}' understand ? 

Then the flv shall kiss her hand. 

•J 

Put a crumb on her thumb ; 
Mavbe he will come. 



THE FL r. 29 

Round and round, on the ground, 
On the ceiHng he is found. 
Catch him? No: let him go. 
Never hurt him so. 
Now you see his wings of silk 
Drabbled in the Baby's milk ! 
Fie, oh, fie ! foolish fly ! 
He will soon get dry. 

All wet flies twist their thighs : 

So they wipe their heads and eyes. 

Cats, you know, wash just so : 

Then their w^hiskers grow. 

Flies have hair too short to comb ! 

Flies go barefoot out from home ! 

But the gnat wears a hat : 

Do you laugh at that ? 

Flies can see more than me — 
So how bright their eyes must be ! 
Little fly, mind your eye — 
Spiders are near by ! 

Now a secret let me tell : 

« 

Spiders will not treat you well ! 
So I say, heed your way ! 
Little fly, good day ! 

Theodore Tilto7i. 




LULLABY, 




OME to my arms, you bewildering 

elf! 
Let me gather you, body and 

soul, to myself; 
Bury your scintillant eyes and hair, 
And all the glory and grace you wear, 
From twinkling feet to golden crown ; 
Clasping you close to my bosom and heart, 
A thing of my holiest being a part. 
Crooning a song in olden rhyme. 
Tender and sweet as a vesper chime. 



Sleep, baby boy ; 

The little birds rest, 
Downy and soft. 

In the mother-bird's nest; 

(30) 



LULLAB r. 2 

The lambkins are safe 

In the shepherd's warm fold ; 

The dew-drops asleep 
In the buttercup's gold. 

The violet nods 

To the daisy's dream ; 
The lil}^ lies hushed 

On the lap of the stream ; 
And holy and calm, 

Like motherl}' eyes, 
The stars look down 

From the silent skies. 

Sleep, baby bo}^, 

IVfy birdling, my flower, 
My lih^, my lambkin. 

My dew-drop, my dower ! 
While heart against heart 

Beats softly in time 
To the murmuring flow 

Of my tender old rhyme. 

Mary Forrest. 




BABY BUNN 



• — «r^Q^<$>>5'T— 




INSOME Baby Bunn ! 

Brighter than the stars that rise 
In the dusky evening skies, 
Browner than the raven's wing, 
Clearer than the woodland spring. 
Are the eyes of Baby Bunn ! 

Smile, mother, smile ! 
Thinking softly all the while 

Of a tender, blissful day. 
When the dark eyes, so like these 
Of the cherub on your knees. 

Stole your girlish heart away. 
Oh, the eyes of Baby Bunn ! 

Rarest mischief will they do, 
When once old enough to steal 

What their father stole from you ! 
Smile, mother, smile ! 

Home Jotirnal. 
(32) 





THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 



IeTWEEN the dark and the day- 
light, 
When the night is beginning to 
lower, 
Comes a pause in the day's occupations 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet ; 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight. 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith, with golden hair. 
3 m 



34 THE CHILDREN' S HOUR. 

oo^e^.cx^ 

A whisper, and then a silence : 
Yet I know, by their merry eyes, 

They are plotting and planning together 
To take me by sm-prise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall ! 

By three doors left unguarded 
The}' enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret, 

O'er the arms and back of my chair : 
If I tr}' to escape, they surround me ; 

They seem to be everywhere ! 

They almost devour me with kisses ; 

Their arms about me entwine ; 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, 

In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for vou all ? 



THE CHILDREN' S HOUR. ^ 

I have you in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeons 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there I will keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away. 

H. IV. Lo7igfello-jj. 





Grant, O Lord I that -we, thy sheep, 
May this night in safety sleep. 
(36) 



s 



AN EVENING PRAYER. 



ORD, thine eye is closed never ; 
When night casts o'er earth her 
hood, 
Thou remainest wakeful ever, 

And art like a shepherd good, 
Who, through ever}^ darksome hour, 
Tends his flock with watchful pow/^.r. 

Grant, O Lord ! that we, thy sheep, 

May this night in safety sleep ; 

And when we again awake, 

Give us strength our cross to take ; 

And to order all our ways 

To thine honor and thy praise. 

Or, if thou hast willed that I 
Must before the morning die, 
Into thy hands to the end 
Soul and body I commend. Amen. 

From tJie German. 
(37) 



LITTLE WHITE LILY 



ITTLE white Lily sat by a stone, 
Drooping and waiting till the sun 
shone. 

Little white Lily sunshine has fed ; 
Little white Lily is lifting her head. 




Little white Lily said, "It is good ; 
Little white Lily's clothing and food." 
Little white Lily dressed like a bride ! 
Shining with whiteness, and crowned beside ! 

Little white Lily droopeth with pain, 
Waiting and waiting for the wet rain. 
Little white Lily holdeth her cup ; 
Rain is fast falling and filling it up. 



Little white Lily said, " Good again. 
When I am thirsty to have nice rain ; 
Now I am stronger, now I am coolj 
Heat cannot burn me, my veins are so full." 



(38) 



LITTLE EFFIE. 39 

Little white Lily smells very sweet; 
On her head sunshine, rain at her feet. 
"Thanks to the sunshine, thanks to the rain, 
Little white Lily is happy again ! " 

G. Macdo7iald. 

— M^^^ 

LITTLE EFFIE. 



ARLING EFFIE ! cherub child ! 
Tossing, in thy glee so wild, 
Back upon thy forehead fair 
All thy wealth of golden hair ! 

Racing, in thy merry glee, 
Throwing kisses now on me. 
Seeming like an angel bright. 
From that heavenly land of light. 

Darling Effie ! cherub girl ! 
'Neath thy restless, tossing curl, 
Peeps thy face so round and sweet, 
That I often love to greet. 




40 



LITTLE EFFIE. 

Now thy hand, so fair and white, 
Passes o'er my wondering sight, 
And, in measures soft and low, 
Fall thy lisping words so low. 

Father ! guide my little one ; 
Lead her safely to thy home ; 
Free from care and earth's alarms, 
Savior ! fold her in thine arms. 

Press her to thy loving breast ; 
Free from pain, oh, let her rest. 
Till at last we meet above, 
And join to sing redeeming love ! 

Carrie D. Broivn 






I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL. 



WANT to be an angel, 

And with the angels stand 
A crown upon my forehead, 
And a harp within my hand. 
Then, right before my Savior, 

So glorious and so bright, 
I'd make the sweetest music. 
And praise him day and night. 

I never should be weary, 

Nor ever shed a tear, 
Nor ever know a sorrow, 

Nor ever feel a fear ; 
But blessed, pure, and holy, 

I'd dwell in Jesus' sight ; 
And with ten thousand thousand, 

Praise him both day and night. 

(41) 



42 / WAJVT TO BE AN ANGEL, 

I know I'm weak and sinful, 

But Jesus will forgive ; 
For many little children 

Have gone to heaven to live ! 
Dear Savior, when I languish, 

And lay me down to die, 
Oh, send a shining angel. 

To bear me to the sky ! 

Oh, there I'll be an angel. 

And with the angels stand ; 
A crown upon my forehead, 

A harp within my hand ! 
And there, before my Savior, 

So glorious and so bright, 
I'll join the heavenly music, 

And praise him day and night. 




I 




EVENING HYMN 



1 


i 



ESUS, tender Shepherd, hear me; 
Bless thy Httle lamb to-night : 
Through the darkness be thou 
near me, 
Watch my sleep till morning light. 

All this day thy hand has led me. 
And I thank thee for thy care ; 

Thou hast clothed me, warmed and fed me: 
Listen to my evening prayer. 



Let my sins be all forgiven ; 

Bless the -friends I love so well; 
Take me, when I die, to heaven, 

Happy there with theti to dwell. 

Mary Luijdie Diuican. 




TEMPERANCE SONG 




ASKED a sweet robin, one morn- 
ing in May, 
Who sung in the apple-tree over 
the way. 
What 'twas she was singing so sweetly about, 
For I'd tried a long time, but could not find 

out. 
"Why, I'm sure," she replied, "you cannot 

guess wrong ; 
Don't you know I am singing a Temperance 

Song ? 
Teetotal — Oh, that's the first word of my lay ; 
And then don't you see how I twitter away? 
'Tis because I've just dipped my beak in the 

spring. 
And brushed the fair face of the lake with my 
wing. 

(44) 



I 



TEMPERANCE SONG. 45 

Cold water, cold water, yes, that is my song, 
And I love to keep singing it all the day 

long. 
And now, my sweet miss, won't you give me 

a crumb, 
For the dear little nestlings are waiting at 

home? 
And one thing besides ; since my story you've 

heard, 
I hope you'll remember the lay of the bird ; 
And never forget, while you list to my song, 
All the birds to the Cold Water Army belong, 

E. P. Hood. 





WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? 

[HAT is that, mother?" 

"The lark, my child. 

The morn has but just looked out 

and smiled. 

When he starts from his humble grassy nest, 

And is up and awa}^, with the dew on his 

breast, 
And a hymn in his heart to yon pure sphere, 
To warble it out in his Maker's ear. 
Ever, my child, be th}^ morn's first lays 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise." 

"What is that, mother?" 

"The dove, my son ; 

And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's 

moan. 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
Constant and pure by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, 
For her distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove ; 
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love." 

(46) 



WHAT IS THAT, MOTHBJif 47 

" What is that, mother ? " 

"The eagle, boy. 

Proudly careering his course with joy ; 

Firm on his own mountain vigor relying, 

Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying ; 

His wing on the wind, and his eye on the 

sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, 

right on. 
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, — 
Onward, and upward, and true to the line." 

"What is that, mother?" 

" The swan, my love ; 

He is floating down from his native grove. 

No loved one now is nestling nigh ; 

He is floating down by himself to die. 

Death darkens his eye and unplumes his 

wings. 
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, my child, that when death shall come, 
Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home." 

Bishop Doaiie. 





THE BETTER LAND. 




HITHER, pilgrims, are 3^e going, 
Each with staff in hand? " 
"We are going on a journe}', 
At the King's command : 
Over plains and hills and valleys, i 

We are going to his palace 
In the Better Land." 



" Fear ye not the wa}^ so lonely, — 

You, a feeble band?" 
" No : for friends unseen are near us ; 

Angels round us stand : 
Christ, our Leader, walks beside us ; — 
He will guide us — he will guard us 

To the Better Land." 

(48) 



THE BETTER LAND. 49 

"Tell me, pilgrims, what you hope for 

In the Better Land?" 
" Spotless robes, and crowns of glory. 

From a Savior's hand. 
We shall drink of Life's clear river, 
We shall dwell with God forever, 

In the Better Land." 

" Will you let me travel with you 

To the Better Land ? " 
" Come away ; we bid you welcome 

To our little band. 
Come, oh, come ! we cannot leave you ; 
Christ is waiting to receive you 

In the Better Land." 

4 





WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 




EE Willie Winkie 

Runs through the town, 
Up stairs and down stairs, 
In his night-gown, — 
Tapping at the window. 

Crying at the lock, 
"Are the weans in bed? 
For it's now ten o'clock." 



Hey ! Willie Winkie, 

Are you coming, then? 
The cat's singing purrie 

To the sleeping hen ; 
The dog is lying on the floor, 

And does not even peep ; 
But here's a wakeful laddie 

That will not fall asleep. 

(50) 



WJSB WILLIE WINKIE. 51 

Anything but sleep, you rogue ! 

Glowing like the moon ! 
Rattling in an iron jug 

With an iron spoon ; 
Rumbling, tumbling all about, 

Crowing like a cock ; 
Screaming like I don't know what. 

Waking sleeping folk. 

Hey! Willie Winkie, 

Can't you keep him still ? 
Wriggling off a body's knee 

Like a very eel ; 
Pulling at the cat's ear, 

As she drowsv hums — 

■J 

Hey, Willie Winkie, 
See ! — there he comes ! 

Wearied is the mother 

That has a restless wean, — 
A wee, frumpy bairnie. 

Heard whene'er he's seen, — 
That has a battle aye with sleep 

Before he'll close an e'e ; 
But a kiss from off his rosy lips 

Gives strength anew to me. 

Scotch Nursery Songs. 




LEARN YOUR LESSON 




OU'LL not learn your lesson by cry- 
ing, my man ; 
You'll never come at it by crying, 
my man ; 
Not a word can you spy 
For the tear in your eye ; 
Then set your heart to it, for surely you can. 



If you like your lesson, it's sure to like you ; 
The words then so glibly would jump into 
view, 

Each one to its place 

All the others would chase. 
Till the laddie would wonder how clever he 



grew 



(52) 



GOOD NIGHT. 53 ^ 

You'll cry till you make yourself stupid and 

blind, 
And then not a word can you keep in your 
mind ; 
But cheer up your heart, 
And you'll soon have your part. 
For all things grow easy when bairns are 
inclined. 

William Miller. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

ABY, Baby, lay your head 
On your pretty little bed ; 
Shut your eye-peeps now the day 
And the light are gone away. 
All the clothes are tucked in tight, — 
Litde Baby, dear, good night. 





SEVEN TIMES ONE. 





E 



HERE'S no dew left on the daisies 
and clover ; 
There's no rain left in heaven : 
I've said mv ^* seven times " over and over, — 
Seven times one are seven. 



I am old — so old, I can write a letter; 

My birthday lessons are done ; 
The lambs play ahvays : they know no better : 

Thev are onlv one times one. 



O moon ! in the night I have seen 3'ou, 
And shining so round and low ; 

You were bright I ah, bright, but vour light 
is failing ; 
You are nothing now but a bow ! 

(54) 



SEVEN TIMES ONE. 55 

You moon, you have done something wrong 
in heaven, 

That God has hidden your face ; 
I hope, if you have, you will be forgiven. 

And shine again in your place. 

O velvet bee ! you 're a dusty fellow, 
You've powdered your legs with gold ; 

O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow ! 
Give me your money to hold. 

O columbine ! open your folded wrapper, 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ; 

cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper 
That hangs in your clear green bell. 

And show me your nest, with the young ones 
in it ; 
I will not steal them away ; 

1 am old ! — you may trust me, linnet, linnet ; 

I am seven times one to-day. 

yean Inge low. 





THE BOY THAT LOVES A BABY. 




OOD morning, little stranger ! 
Good morning, baby, dear ! 
Good morning, too, Mrs. Grain- 
ger ! 
And what do you do here, 
With your boxes, caps, and cap-strings, 
Drowsy, hazard-hap things. 
And love of good cheer? 



I'm a little boy that goes, ma'am, 

Straight to the point ; 
You said that my nose, ma'am, 

Would soon be out of joint ; 
But my nose keeps its place, ma'am ; 

The middle of my face, ma'am; 
It is a nose of grace, ma'am — 

Aroint thee ! aroint ! 

(50) 



THE BOr THAT LOVES A BABT. 57 

Good morning, little stranger ! 

A girl, or a boy? 
Good morning, Mrs. Grainger — 

Where are you, ma'am? ahoy! 
Here's all things in their proper place, 

And people likewise, 
The laundry-maid in the copper-place. 

The skylark in the skies ! 

Here's love for mamma. 

And love for papa ; 
Here's a penny for a scavenger. 

And a bag for blooming lavender. 
And a rope for "Don't Care," 

And a kiss for the little baby, 
And one for a pretty lady 

With a diamond in her hair. 

LilUput Levee. 



\ 





The moon is light i7ig up the skies, 
The st,ars are sparklijig there. 

(58) 




GOOD NIGHT. 




HE sun is hidden from our sight, 
The birds are sleeping sound ; 
'Tis time to say to all, " Good 
Night ! " 
And give a kiss all round. 

Good Night, my father, mother, dear ! 

Now kiss your little son ; 
Good Night, my friends, both far and near ! 

Good Night to every one. 



Good Night, 3^e merry, merry birds ! 

Sleep w^ell till morning light ; 
Perhaps if you could sing in words 

You would have said " Good Night 



(50) 



6o 



GOOD NIGHT. 



To all my pretty flowers, Good Night ! 

You blossom while I sleep ; 
And all the stars, that shine so bright, 

With 3^ou their watches keep. 

The moon is lighting up the skies, 
The stars are sparkling there ; 

'Tis time to shut our weary eyes, 
And say our evening prayer. 

Mrs. Follen. 





MY BEAUTIFUL HUNTRESS 




Y love is ruddy, my love is young ; 
A silver horn to her neck is 
hung ; 

Her eyes are clear as running water, 
And she is as proud as a prince's daughter. 



Alone, on her pony, I saw her ride 
One morning up to our country side ; 
She came like a wind from out of a cloud ; - 
You beautiful girl, you may well be proud I 



She is sweeter than sweetbrier after rain. 
But she went away like a wind again ; 

She lifted her bugle ; her hair blew free ; 
Dressed in Lincoln-green was she. 



(01) 



62 MT BEAUTIFUL HUNTRESS. 

Oh, come like a wind of the sky once more. 
You beautiful girl ! as you did before ; 

Then pass like the wind ! and I have seen 
My beautiful girl in the Lincoln-green. 

And then when I kneel at my prayers at 

night, 
And tell my mother I saw the sight, 
She smiles, and says that my thoughts run 

wild, 
And calls me her fanciful, foolish child ! 

Lilliput Levee. 





CASABIANCA 



A TRUE STORY. 




HE boy stood on the burning deck, 
Whence all but he had fled ; 
The flame that lit the battle's 
wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

The flames rolled on. He would not go 

Without his father's word. 
That father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 



He called aloud : "Say, father, say 
If yet my task is done ! " 

He knew not that the chieftain lay 
Unconscious of his son. 

((•.3) 



64 CASAB/AJVCA 



-oo>S><c 



" Speak, father," once ag'ain he cried, 

" If I may yet be gone 1 " 
And but the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow he felt their breath, 

And in his waving hair. 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In still, yet brave despair, — 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

"My father! must I stay?" 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud. 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 
They caught the flag on high. 

And streamed above the gallant child 
Like banners in the sky. 

Then came a burst of thunder sound — 
The boy — oh ! where was he ? 

Ask of the winds, that far around. 
With fragments strewed the sea — 



I 



HOPE. 



-^>o>®<c 



6s 



With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, 
That well had borne their part: 

But the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young, faithful heart. 

Mrs. F. Hema?ii 




HOPE. 



HE night is mother of the day 
The winter of the spring, 
And ever upon old decay 



The greenest mosses cling. 



Behind the cloud the starlight lurks ; 

Through showers the sunbeams fall ; 
For God, who loveth all his works, 

Has left his hope with all. 

y. G. Wkittier. 




THE FOUNTAIN 




NTO the sunshine, 
Full of hght, 
Leaping and flashing 
From morn till night ! 

Into the moonlight, 

Whiter than snow. 
Waving so flower-like 

When the winds blow I 



Into the starlight 
Rushing in spray; 

Happy at midnight, 
Happy by day ! 



(66) 



THE FOUNTAIN. 67 

Ever in motion, 

Blithesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward, 

Never aweary. 

Glad of all weathers, 

Still seeming best. 
Upward or downward 

Motion thy rest. . - 

Full of a nature 

Nothing can tame ; 
Changed every moment, 

Ever the same. 

Ceaseless aspiring. 

Ceaseless content, 
Darkness or sunshine 

Thy element. 

Glorious Fountain ! 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, constant. 

Upward, like thee. 

James Russell Lowell. 






THE PRIDE OF YOUTH. 



iROUD Maisie is in the wood, 
Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush 
Singing so rarely. 

'Tell me, thou bonnie bird? 
When shall I marry me." 
"When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry thee." 

"Who makes the bridal bed? 

Birdie, say, truly." 
" The gray-headed sexton, 

That delves the grave duly. 

" The glow-worm o'er the grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady; 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

Welcome, proud lady ! " 

Sir Walter Scott. 

(08) 



I 
i 



MARY'S LITTLE LAMB 





ARY had a little lamb; 

Its fleece was white as snow ; 
And everywhere that Mary went, 
The lamb was sure to go. 



He followed her to school one day — 
That was against the rule ; 

It made the children laugh and play 
To see a lamb in school. 



70 MART'S LITTLE LAMB. 

So the teacher turned him out; 

But still he lingered near, 
And in the grass he played about 

Till Mary did appear. 

Then he ran to her, and laid 

His head upon her arm. 
As if he said, " I'm not afraid ; 

You'll keep me from all harm." 

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" 

The eager children cry. 
"Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know," 

The teacher did reply. 

And you each gentle animal 

In confidence may bind. 
And make them follow at your will 

If you are only kind. 

Songs for Ckildre7i. 



I 




YOUNG LOCHINVAR 




H, young Lochinvar 

Is come out of the West ! 
Through all the wide border 
His steed is the best ; 
And, save his good broadsword, 

He weapon had none ; 
He rode all unarmed. 

And he rode all alone. ' 
So faithful in love 

And so dauntless in war, 
Tnere never was knight 
Like the young Lochinvar ! 



He staid not for brake, 

And he stopped not for stone ; 
He swam the Eske River 

Where ford there was none; 



72 rOUNG LOCHINVAR. 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate 
The bride had consented ; 

The gallant came late ; 
For a laggard in love 

And a dastard in war 

Was to wed the fair Ellen 

Of brave Lochinvar. 

So, bravely he entered 

The Netherby Hall, 
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, 

And brothers and all. 
Then spake the bride's father, 

His hand on his sword, — 
For the poor craven bridegroom 

Said never a word, — 
" Oh, come ye in peace here, 

Or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, 

Young Lochinvar?" 

" I long wooed your daughter ; 

My suit you denied : 
Love swells like the Solway, 

But ebbs like its tide. 



YOUNG LOCHINVAR. 73 

And now I am come, 

With this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure. 

Drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland 

More lovely by far. 
That would gladly be bride 

To the young Lochinvar ! " 

The bride kissed the goblet, 

The knight took it up ; 
He quaffed off the wine, 

And he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush. 

And she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lip 

And a tear in her ej^e. 
He took her soft hand 

Ere her mother could bar : 
" Now tread we a measure ! " 

Said young Lochinvar. 

So statel}^ his form 

And so lovely her face, 
That never a hall 

Such a galliard did grace ; 



74 



r O UN G L O C HI A' VA R . 

While her mother did fret 

And her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangHng 

His bonnet and plume ; 
And the bride-maidens whispered, 

"'Twere better by far 
To have matched our fair cousin 

To 3'oung Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand. 

And one word to her ear. 
When they reached the hall door; 

And the charger stood near ; — 
So light to the croup 

The fair- lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle 

Before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone. 

Over bank, bush, and scaur, — 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! 

Cried young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong grooms 

Of the Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, 

They rode and they ran ; 



TOUNG LOCHINVAR. 75 

There was racing and chasing 

On Canobie lea; 
But the lost bride of Netherby 

Ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love 

x\nd so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant 

Like young Lochinvar? 

Sir Walter Scott. 





SPRING-TIME 



HE cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter. 
The green field sleeps in the sun ; 
The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest ; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising ; 
There are forty feeding like one ! 

Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; 
The ploughboy is whooping anon, anon, 

There's joy in the mountains ; 

There's life in the fountains ; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue clouds prevailing ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

W. Wordsworth. 
(70) 



i 




BABY AND MAMMA 




HAT a little thing am I ! 

Hardly higher than the table ; 
I can eat, and play, and cry, 
But to work I am not able. 



Nothing in the world I know. 

But mamma will try and show me 

Sweet mamma ! I love her so. 
She is so YQvy kind unto me. 



And she sets me on her knee, 
Very often, for some kisses ; 

Oh ! how good I'll try to be. 

For such a dear mamma as this is I 

(77) 





POLLY 



ROWN eyes, straight nose ; 
Dirt pies, rumpled clothes. 



Torn books, spoilt toys ; 
Arch looks, unlike a boy's ; 

Little rages, obvious arts ; 
(Three her age is), cakes, tarts; 

Falling down off chairs ; 
Breaking crown down stairs ; 

Catching flies on the pane ; 
Deep sighs — cause not plain ; 



Bribing you with kisses 
For a few farthing blisses. 



(78) 




/^, // / 



Folded Jtajzds, saying" prayers ; 
Understaiids not, nor cares; 
Thinks it odd ; smiles atvay ; 
Tet may God hear her ;pray ! 

(79) 



8o POLLT. 

Wide awake ; as you hear, 
" Mercy's -sake, quiet, dear ! " 

New shoes, new frock ; 
Vague views of w^hat's o'clock 

When it's time to go to bed, 
And scorn subHme for what's said. 

Folded hands, saying prayers; 
Understands not, nor cares ; 

Thinks it odd ; smiles away ; 
Yet may God hear her pray ! 

Bed-gown white, kiss Dolly ; 
Good night! that's Polly. 

Fast asleep, as you see ; 
Heaven keep my girl for me ! 

Lilliput Levee. 





THE LITTLE BABY 




HAT is this pretty little thing, 
The nurse so carefully doth bring, 
And round its head her apron 
fling? 

A Baby. 



Oh, dear ! how very soft its cheek ! 
Why, nurse, I cannot make it speak, 
And it can't walk, it is so weak. 

Poor Baby. 



Here, take a bit, you little dear ; 

I have nice cake and sweetmeats here ; 

'Tis very nice ; you need not fear, , 

You Baby. 
6 (81) 



82 THE LITTLE BABT. 

Oh! I'm afraid that it will die; 
Why can't it eat as well as I, 
And jump and talk? Do let it try, 

Poor Baby. 

Why, you were once a baby too, 
And could not jump as now you do, 
But good mamma took care of you. 

Like Bab}'. 

And then she taught your pretty feet 
To pat along the carpet neat, 
And call papa to come and meet 

His Baby. 

Oh ! dca7' mamma, to take such care. 
And no kind pains and trouble spare 
To feed and nurse you when you were 

A Baby ! 





GIVE 




EE the rivers flowing 

Downward to the sea, 
Pouring all their treasures 
Bountiful and free ! 
Yet, to help their giving, 

Hidden springs arise ; 
Or, if need be, showers 
Feed them from the skies. 



Watch the princely flowers 

Their rich fragrance spread ; 
Load the air with perfumes 

From their beauty shed ; 
Yet their lavish spending 

Leaves them not in dearth, 
With fresh life replenished 

By their mother earth. 

(S3) 



84 



GIVE. 



^•^^c 



Give thy heart's best treasures ; 

From fair Nature learn ; 
Give thy love, and ask not, 

Wait not, a return. 
And the more thou spendest 

From thy little store, 
With a double bounty 

God v^ill give thee more. 

Adelaide A. Proctor. 




CHRISTMAS SONG 




HAT shall we bring 
Unto our Kincr 
For a Christmas offering? 
A breast where love, 
Like a brooding dove, 
Makes earth like heaven to prove. 

What shall we bring 
Unto our King 
For a Christmas offering? 
Ring out a chime. 
Through every clime, 
To tell that this is Christ's own time. 

This shall we bring 
Unto our King, 
For a Christmas offering : 
Good-will increase, 
And all strife cease. 
And every heart be filled with peace. 

Julie Leonard. 
(85) 



=^ 




ROCK ME TO SLEEP 




ACKWARD — turn back^Yard, O 
Time I in your flight : 
INIake me a child again just for 
to-night I 

^Mother, come back from the echoless shore ; 

Take me ao-ain to vour heart as of vore ; 

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care ; 

Smooth the few silver threads out of my haii"; 

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; 

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep I 



Backward, flow backward, O tide of the 



years 



I am so weary of toils and of tears, — 
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain : 
Take them, and give me my childhood again I 
I have grown weary of dust and decay ; 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth awa}' ; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap ; 
Rock me to sleep again, rock me to sleep ! 

(S6) 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 87 

Over my heart in the days that are flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone ; 
No other w^orship abides and endures, 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours. 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary 

brain ; 
Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep : 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! 

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with 

gold. 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old ; 
Let it fall over my forehead to-night. 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ; 
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more, 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore. 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep. 

Clasped to your arms in a loving embrace, 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep. 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! 

Mrs. Akers. 




THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. 




AIR streamlet, running 
Where violets grow, 
Under the elm trees. 
Murmuring low ; 
Rippling gently 

Amid the grass, 
I have a fancy. 
As I pass ; — 
I have a fancy as I see 
The trailing willows kissing thee ; 
As I behold the daisies pied. 
The harebells nodding at thy side ; 
The sheep that feed upon thy brink, 
The birds that stoop th}^ wave to drink ; 
Thy blooms that tempt the bees to stray, 
And all the life that tracks thy way. 

(88) 




Fair streamlet, rtaming xvherc violets grow, 
Ufider the ehn trees, murmuring loxv. 
(SO) 



go THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. 

I deem thou flowest 

Through grass}' meads, 
To show the beauty 

Of gentle deeds ; 
To show how happy 

The world might be 
If man, observant, 
Copied thee ; 
To show how small a stream may pour 
Verdure and beauty on either shore ; 
To teach what humble men might do, 
If their lives were pure, and their hearts were 

true ; 
And what a wealth they might dispense, 
In modest, calm beneficence. 
Marking their course, as thou dost thine. 
By wayside flowers of love divine. 

Charles Mackay. 





SLEEPING AND WATCHING 




LEEP on, Baby, on the floor. 
Tired of all the playing ! 
Sleep the sweeter for the smile 
That you dropped away in ! 

On your curls' full roundness stand 

Golden lights serenely ; 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand, 

Folds the dimple inly. 



Little head and little foot, 
Heavy laid for pleasure ; 

Underneath the lids, half shut, 
Slants the shining azure. 

Open-soul in noonday sun. 
So you lie and slumber ! 

Nothing evil having done. 
Nothing can encumber. 

(91) 



92 SLEEPIXG AXD WATCHING. 

I, who cannot sleep as well, 
Shall I sigh to view you? 

Or, sigh further to foretell 
All that ma}" undo 3'ou? 

Nay, keep smiling, little child, 

Ere the sorrow neareth ; 
I will smile too I Patience mild 

Pleasure's token weareth. 

Nay, keep sleeping before loss ; 

I shall sleep though losing ! 
As by cradle, so by cross. 

Sure is the reposing. 

Mrs. E. B. Brovj}ii?ig. 





ANNABEL LEE 



- e-<a>->,3.-ts-— 




T was many and many a year ago, 
In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived, 
Whom you may know 
By the name of Annabel Lee ; 

And this maiden she lived 
With no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 



I was a child, and she was a child, 
• In this kingdom by the sea ; 
But we loved with a love 

That was more than love — 
I and my Annabel Lee ; — 

With a love that the winged 
Seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

(93) 



94 



ANNABEL LEE. 



And this was the reason that long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, 
. Chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her high-born kinsman came, 

And took her away from me. 
To shut her up in a sepulchre. 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven. 

Went envj'ing her and me — 
Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men 
know , 

In this kingdom by the sea), 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the 
love 

Of those that were older than we — 

Of many far wiser than we — 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



ANNABEL LEE. 95 

For the moon never beams 

Without bringing me dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 

And the stars never rise, 

But I see the bright eyes 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

And so, all the night-tide, 

I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — 

My life and my pride, 
In her sepulchre there by the sea — 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Edgar A, Poe. 





THE MAY QJJEEN. 




I. 

OU must wake and call me early, 
Call me early, mother dear ; 
To-morrow will be the happiest 
time 

Of all the glad New Year ! 
Of all the glad New Year, mother, 

The maddest, merriest day, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 
I'm to be Queen o' the May. 



THE MAT ^UEEN. 97 

II. 

There's many a black, black eye, they say, 

But none so black as mine ; 
There's Margaret and Mary, 

There's Kate and Caroline, 
But none so fair as little Alice, 

In all the land, they say ! 
So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

III. 
I sleep so sound all night, mother. 

That I shall never wake 
If you do not call me loud. 

When the day begins to break ; 
But I must gather knots of flowers. 

And buds and garlands gay. 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

IV. 

As I came up the valley. 

Whom think ye I should see, 
But Robin, leaning on the bridge, 

Beneath the hazel tree? 
.7 



98 THE MAT ^UEEN. 



3>e^c 



He thought of that sharp look, mother, 

I gave him yesterday : 
But I'm to be Queen o' the Maj^, mother, 

Fm to be Queen o' the May. 



V. 

He thought I was a ghost, mother, ' 

For I was all in white, 
And I ran by him \^'ithout speaking, 

Like a flash of light. 
They call me cruel-hearted. 

But I care not what they say. 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

VI. 

Thev say he's dying all for love — 

But that can never be : 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — 

What is that to me ? 
There's many a bolder lad "11 woo me 

Any summer day ; 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 



THE MAT ^UEEN. 99 

VII. 
Little Effie shall go with me, 

To-morrow, to the green, 
And you'll be there, too, mother, 

To see me made the Queen. 
For the shepherd lads on every side 

Will come from far away. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

Viii. 
The honeysuckle round the porch 

Has w^oven its wavy bowers. 
And by the meadow trenches blow 

The faint, sweet cuckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire 

In swamps and hollows gray. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

IX. 

The night winds come and go, mother, 

Upon the meadow grass. 
And the happy stars above them seem 

To brighten as they pass. 



lOO THE MAT ^U E E N . 

There will not be a drop of rain 
The whole of the livelong day, 

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother 
I'm to be Queen o' the May. 



All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh, 

And green, and still, 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot 

Are over all the hill ; 
And the rivulet in the flowery dell 

Will merrily glance and play. 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

XI. 

So you must wake and call me early, 

Call me early, mother, dear. 
To-morrow '11 be the happiest time 

Of all the glad New Year ; 
To-morrow '11 be, of all the year, 

The maddest, merriest day. 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 

I'm to be Qiieen o' the May. 

Tetinyson. 




THE FATHER'S KNEE 




H, happy is the mother 
Of each little pet, 
Who has a happy father, 
By the fire set. 
With wee tottum sleeping 
'Neath its mother's e'e, 
Another tottum creeping 

Up its father's knee. 
Aye rocking, rocking, 
Aye rocking ree — 
Pulling at his stocking. 
Climbing up his knee. 

(101) 



I02 THE FATHER'S KNEE. 

Though our wee bit housie 

Few there be that know, 
Happy we, and cosie, 

Round about it go. 
Though for seats so scanty, 

Bairns cannot agree. 
The}" cuddle all so ranty 

On their father's knee. 
They 're aye wink — winking, 

With a sleeping e'e. 
Or a3'e jink — jinking 

Round their father's knee. 

Though the sunlight shining 

Scarce glints on the wall. 
There is ne'er repining 

By our firelight small. 
And bright the rays of glory. 

Streaming down we see, 
When the good grandsire hoary 

Bends his aged knee. 
Both the parents kneeling 

By their totts so wee, — 
Holy is the feeling 

Offered on the knee. 



THE FATHER' S KNEE. 103 

I wonder if in palace, 

Or in lordly hall, 
Their hearts are all as hale as 

In our cot so small ; 
If the Royal Mother 

Can her lassies see, 
Cuddling their wee brother 

On their father's knee ! 
What to her kind bosie 

Are her kingdoms three. 
Unless her totts are cosie 

On their father's knee? 

James Ballaiity?ie. 





CREEP BEFORE YOU WALK 

REEP away, my baimie, 
Creep before you gang ; 
Listen with both your ears 
To your old granny's sang ; 
If you go as far as I, 

You will think the road lang ; 
Creep away, m}^ bairnie. 
Creep before you gang. 




Creep away, my bairnie ; 

You're too young to learn 
To tot up and down yet, 

My bonnie wee bairn ; 
Better creeping, careful, 

Than falling with a bang, 
Hurting all your wee brow , — 

Creep before you gang. 

(104) 



CREEP BEFORE TOU WALK. 

The little birdie falls 

When it tries too soon to fly ; 
Folks are sure to tumble 

When they climb too high. 
Those who do not walk aright 

Are sure to come to wrong ; 
Creep away my bairnie, 

Creep before you gang. 



lo: 



J^ 



Ballaiitv 




-^- 




GOD IS GOOD. 



EE the morning sunbeams 
Lighting up the wood, 
Silently proclaiming, 
" God is ever good ! " 

Hear the mountain streamlet. 

In the solitude, 
With its ripple, saying, 

" God is ever good ! " 

In the leafy tree-tops. 
Where no fears intrude, 

Merry birds are singing, 
" God is ever good ! " 

Bring, my heart, thy tribute, — 

Songs of gratitude ; 
While all Nature utters, 

" God is ever good I " 

Anon. 

(100) 



yy^. 




LONGING 




F all the myriad moods of mind, 
That through the soul come 
thronging, 
Which one was e'er so dear, so kind. 
So beautiful as Longing? 



The thing we long for, that we are, 
For one transcendent moment. 

Before the present, poor and bare. 
Can make its sneering comment. 



Still, through our paltry stir and strife, 
, Glows down the wished Ideal, 
And Longing moulds in clay what Life 
Carves in the marble Real ; 

(107) 



Io8 LONGING. 

To let new life in, we know, 
Desire must ope the portal ; — 

Perhaps the Longing to be so 
Helps make the soul immortal. 

Longing is God's fresh heavenward will, 
With our poor earthward striving ; 

We quench it that we may be still, 
Content w^ith only living. 

But would we learn that heart's full scope 
Wliich we are hourly wronging, 

Our lives must climb from hope to hope, 
And realize our Longing. 

Ah ! let us hope that to our praise 

Good God not only reckons 
The moments when we tread his ways. 

But when the spirit beckons, — 

That some slight good is also wrought 

Beyond self-satisfaction. 
When we are simply good in thought, 

Howe'er we fail in action. 

James Russell Lowell. 



THE BABY 



-'-c--eiC«x£>^j — ■ 




NOTHER little wave 

Upon the sea of life ; 
Another soul to save 
Amid its toil and strife. 



Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road ; 

To choose where two paths meet, 
The narrow and the broad. 

Two more little hands 
To work for good or ill ; 

Two more little eyes, 
Another little will. 



Another heart to love, 

Receiving love again ; 
And so the Baby came, 

A thing of joy and pain. 

Mrs. Liccy E. Akerman. 
(109) 




GREEN RIVER 




HEN breezes are soft and skies are 
fair, 
I steal an hour from study and 
care, 
And hie me away to the woodland scene. 
Where wanders the stream with waters of 

green. 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
Had given their stain to the wave they drink ; 
And they whose meadows it murmurs through 
Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 
Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
With colored pebbles, and sparkles of light, 
And clear the depths where its eddies play 
And dimples deepen and whirl away, 
And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 
The swifter current that mines its root, 

(110) 




Lonely — save nv/ien, by thy rippling- tides, 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides. 
(111). 



112 GREEN RIVER. 

Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk 

the hill 
The quivering glimmer of sun and rill, 
With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 
Like the ray that streams from the diamond- 
stone, 
Oh, loveliest there the spring days come. 
With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' 

hum ; 
The flowers of summer are fairest there, 
And freshest the breath of the summer air ; 
And sweetest the golden autumn day 
In silence and sunshine glides away. 
Yet fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, 
Beautiful stream ! by the village side,. 
But windest away from the haunts of men. 
To the quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill, 
Around thee, are lonely, lovel}^ and still, — 
Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides. 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
Or the simpler comes, with basket and book. 
For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; 
Or, haply, some idle dreamer, like me, 
To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. 



TO THE LARK. I-13 

Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
On the river cherr3^ and seedy reed. 
And thine own wild music gushing out 
With mellow murmur or fairy shout, 
From dawn to the blush of another day, 
Like traveller singing on his way. 

William Culle7i Bryant. 

— ^Q^^^M^^^<!^ 

TO THE LARK. 



N the sun's bright gold, 
O'er mountain and wold 

Thy gladsome song doth ring, 
As thou fliest free 
Through the azure sea. 
Cooling thy airy wing. 

Where the light cloud soars. 
Where the torrent pours, 

Canst thou flit o'er the mountain's brow ; 
Then down at a bound. 
From the sky to the ground — 

Oh, a glorious life hast thou ! 




A VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS 




^ss^=^^- CLEMENT C. MOORE. 



WAS the night before Christmas, 
When all through the house 
Not a creature was stirring, 
Not even a mouse ; — 

The stockings were hung 
By the chimneys with care, 

In hopes that St. Nicholas 
Soon would be there. 

(114) 



VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS. I15 

The children were nestled 

All snug in their beds, 
While visions of sugar-plums, 

Danced through their heads ; — ■ 

And mamma in her kerchief, 

And I in my cap. 
Had just settled our brains, 

For a long winter's nap, — 

When out on the lawn 

There arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from the bed 

To see what was the matter^ 

Away to the window 

I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters, 

And threw up the sash. 

The moon on the breast 

Of the new-fallen snow. 
Gave the lustre of mid-day 

To objects below, — 



Il6 A VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS, 

When, what to my wondering 

Eyes should appear, 
But a miniature sleigh 

And eight tiny reindeer, — 

With a little old driver, 

So lively and quick, 
I knew, in a moment, 

It must be St. Nick ! 

More rapid than eagles 
His coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted. 
And called them by name : — 

"Now, Dasher! now. Dancer! 

Now, Prancer ! now, Vixen! — 
On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! 

On, Donder and Bhxen ! — 

" To the top of the porch ! 

To the top of the wall! 
Now, dash away, dash away, 

Dash away, all ! " 



A VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS. 117 

As leaves that before 

The wild hurricane fly, 
When they meet with 

An obstacle, mount to the sky, — 

So up to the house-top 

The coursers they flew, 
With the sleigh full of toys, 

And St. Nicholas too. 

And then, in a twinkling, 

I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing 

Of each little hoof. 

As I drew in my head. 
And was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas 
Came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur. 
From his head to his foot. 

And his clothes were all tarnished 
With ashes and soot. 



Il8 A VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS. 

A bundle of toys he had 

Flung on his back, 
And he looked like a pedler 

Just opening his pack 

His eyes — how they twinkled ! 

His dimples — how merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, 

His nose like a cherry. 

His droll little mouth 

Was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard on his chin 
Was as white as the snow. 

The stump of a pipe he held 

Tight in his teeth. 
And the smoke, it encircled 

His head like a wreath ! 

He had a broad face. 
And a little round belly. 

That shook, when he laughed, 
Like a bowl full of jelly. 



A VISIT OF SANTA CLAUS. 119 

He was chubby and plump, 

A right jolly old elf; 
And I laughed, when I saw him. 

In spite of myself. 

A wink of his eye. 

And a twist of his head, 
Soon gave me to know 

I had nothing to dread. 

He spake not a word. 

But went straight to his work, 
And filled all the stockings ; 

Then turned, with a jerk, — 

And laying his finger 

Aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod, 

Up the chimney he rose I 

He sprang to his sleigh, 

To his team gave a whistle, 

And away they all flew, 

Like the down of the thistle. 



I20 INDUSTRT. 

But I heard him exclaim, 
Ere he drove out of sight, 

"Happy Christmas to all, 
And to all a good night ! " 

INDUSTRY. 



ATHER the roses while they bloom ; 
Never lose a day, 
Nor in sloth one hour consume, — 
Time doth pass away. 



Now you've opportunity 

Both for work and play ; 
Where may you to-morrow be? — 

Time doth pass away. 

Men have mourned their whole life through 

One good deed's delay ; 
Do at once what you've to do, — 

Time (Joth pass away. 

From the German^ 





BABY'S LETTER TO UNCLE. 




EAR old uncle, I dot oor letter : 
My dear mamma, she ditten bet- 
ter ; 

She every day little bit stronger ; 
Don't mean to be sick very much longer. 
Dear little Baby had a bad colic ; 
Had to take three drops nassy palagolic. 
Toot a dose of tatnip ; felt worse as ever ; 
Shan't take no more tatnip never ! 
Wind on stomit, felt pooty bad ; 
Worse fit of sickness ever I had ! 
Ever had stomit ate, ole uncle Bill? 
Ain't no fun now, say what oo will. 
I used to sleep all day, and cry all night; 
Don't do it now, cause tain't yite. 
Got a head of hair jess as black as night ; 
And big boo eyes, yat look very bright. 

(121) 



122 BABT'S LETTER TO UNCLE. 

My mamma say, never did see 

Any ozzer Baby half as sweet as me. 

Grandma come often, aunt Sarah, too; 

Baby loves zem. Baby loves oo. 

Baby sends a pooty kiss to his uncles all. 

Aunties and cousins, big folks and small. 

Can't yite no more, so dood by. 

From little Baby, wiz a boo eye. 

Harper s Weekly. 




\ 




RAIN IN SUMMER, 




OW beautiful is the rain ! 
After the dust and heat, 
In the broad, fiery street, 

In the narrow lane. 

How beautiful is the rain ! 



How it clatters along the roofs. 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 

Across the window-pane 

It pours and it pours ; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars, 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

(123) 



124 RAIN IN SUMMER. 

The sick man from his chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks ; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool; 

The fevered brain 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets. 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side, 

Where, far and wide. 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, 

Stretches the plain, 

To the dry grass, and the dryer grain. 

How welcome is the rain ! 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 125 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale. 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well-watered and smoking soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after toil, 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken, word. 

Near at hand. 

From under the sheltering trees, 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain, 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin. 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these, 
The Poet sees ! 



126 RAIN IN SUMME\R. 

^^•^^o<> 

He can behold 

Aquarius old, 

Walking the fenceless field of the air, 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled. 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 

Things manifold, 

That have not yet been wholly told. 

Have not been wholly sung or said. 

For liis thought, that never stops, 

Follows the water-drops 

Down to the graves of the dead, 

Down through the chasms and gulfs profound. 

To the dreary fountain-head 

Of lakes and rivers, under ground; 

And sees them, when the rain is done. 

On the bridge of colors seven, 

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 
With vision clear, 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 127 

Sees forms appear and disappear 

In the perpetual round of strange 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to birth, 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth ; 

Till glimpses more sublime 

Of things, unseen before, 

Unto his wondering eyes reveal 

The Universe, as an immeasurable v^heel, 

Turning forevermore 

In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 

He7iry W. Longfellow . 






DEEDS OF KINDNESS 



JUPPOSE the little cowslip 

Should hang its little cup, 
And say, " I'm such a tiny flower, 
I'd better not grow up." 
How many a weary traveller 

Would miss its fragrant smell ! 
How many a little child would grieve 
To lose it from the dell ! 

Suppose the glistening dew-drops 

Upon the grass should say, 
"What can a little dew-drop do? 

I'd better roll away." 
The blade on which it rested. 

Before the day was* done, 
Without a drop to moisten it 

Would wither in the sun. 

(128) 



DEEDS OF KINDNESS. 129 

Suppose the little breezes, 

Upon a summer's day, 
Should think themselves too small to cool 

The traveller on his way ; 
Who would not miss the smallest 

And softest ones that blow, 
And think they made a great mistake 

If they were talking so? 

How many deeds of kindness 

A little child may do. 
Although it has so little strength, 

And little wisdom too ! 
It needs a loving spirit. 

Much more than strength, to prove, 
How many things a child may do 

For others by its love. 

Songs for Children. 





MY DOLLY. 




HIS is her picture — Dolladme - — 
The most beautiful doll that ever 
was seen ! 

Oh, what nosegays ! Oh, what sashes ! 
Oh, what beautiful eves and lashes! 



Oh, what a precious, perfect pet ! 
On each instep a pink rosette ; 
Little blue shoes for her little blue tots 
Elegant ribbons in bows and knots. 



Her hair is powdered, her arms are straight : 
Only feel — she is quite a weight ! 
Her legs are limp, though — stand up. Miss ! 
What a beautiful, rosy-lipped mouth to kiss ! 

Li input LeveC' 
(130) 







This is her picture — Dolladifie — 
The most beautiful doll that ever was seen I 
(131) 




YOUR MISSION. 




F you cannot, on the ocean, 

Sail among the swiftest fleet. 
Rocking on the highest billows, 
Laughing at the storms you meet, 
You can stand among the sailors, 

Anchored yet within the bay ; 
You can lend a hand to help them, 
As they launch their boat away. 



If you are too weak to journey 

Up the mountain, steep and high, 
You can stand within the valley, 

While the multitudes go by ; 
You can chant in happy measure, 

As they slowly pass along ; 
Though they may forget the singer, 

They will not forget the song. 

(132) 



J 



^YOUR MISSION. 133 



3>»<C 



If you have not gold and silver 

Ever ready to command; 
If you cannot toward the needy 

Reach an ever open hand; 
,You can visit the afflicted, 

O'er the erring you can weep ; 
You can be a true disciple, 

Sitting at the Savior's feet. 

If you cannot, in the harvest. 

Garner up the richest sheaves. 
Many a grain, both ripe and golden. 

Will the careless reapers leave ; 
Go and glean among the briers. 

Growing rank against the wall, 
For it may be that their shadow 

Hides the heaviest wheat of all. 

If you cannot, in the conflict, 

Prove yourself a soldier true — 
If, where fire and smoke are thickest, 

There's no work for you to do; 
When the battle-field is silent. 

You can go, with silent tread ; 
You can bear away the wounded, 

You can cover up the dead. 



134 TOUR MISSION. ^^ 

rxi-iiS^oo 

Do not, then, stand idly waiting 

For some greater work to do ; 
Fortune is a lazy goddess — 

She will never come to you. 
Go and toil in any vineyard ; 

Do not fear to do or dare ; 
If vou want a field of labor, 

You can find it anywhere. 

Elle7i H. Gates. 





THE RIVULET. 




UN, little rivulet, run ! 

Summer is fairly begun ; 
Bear to the meadow the hymn of 
the pines, 
And the echo that rings where the water- 
fall shines ; 
Run, little rivulet, run ! 



Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Sing to the fields of the sun. 
That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold, 
Where you glide from your ravine crystal- 
cold; 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

(135) 



136 THE RIVULET. 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Sing of the flowers, every one — 
Of the delicate harebell, and violet blue ; 
Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping 
with dew ; 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Carry the perfume you won 
From the lily, that woke 
When the morning was gray. 
To the white, waiting moonbeam adrift on 
the bay ; 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Stay not till summer is done ! 
Carry to city the mountain bird's glee ; 
Carry the joy of the hills to the sea ; 

Run, little rivulet, run ! 

Lucy Larconi. 





A LULLABY 




[LEEP, Baby, sleep; 

Thy father watches his sheep; 
Thy mother is shaking the dream- 
land tree, 
And down falls a little dream on thee : 
Sleep, Baby, sleep. 



Sleep, Baby, sleep ; 

The large stars are the sheep ; 
The little stars are the lambs, I guess. 
And the bright moon is the shepherdess 

Sleep, Baby, sleep. 



Sleep, Baby, sleep ; 

Thy Savior loves his sheep ; 
He is the Son of God on high. 
Who for our sakes came down to die 

Sleep, Baby, sleep. 

(137) 



138 THE RECONCILIATION. 



Sleep, Baby, sleep; 

The morning light will peep ; 
The sun will come to see my dear, 
The birds will sing his heart to cheer : 

Sleep, Baby, sleep. 

From the German. 



THE RECONCILIATION. 

S through the land at eve we went, 
And plucked the ripened ears. 
We fell out, my wife and I ; 
Oh, we fell out, I know not why. 
And kissed again with tears. 

For, when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years. 
There, above the little grave, 
Oh, there above the little grave. 

We kissed again with tears. 

Alfred Tennyson. 




LABOR. 



-^-«5^e-?— 




SAUSE not to dream of the future 
before us ; 
Pause not to weep the wild cares 
that come o'er us ; 
Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 
Unintermitting, goes up to heaven ! 
Never the ocean .wave falters in flowing ; 
Never the little seed stops in its growing ; 
More and more richly 
The rose-heart keeps glowing. 
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 

"Labor is worship!" the robin is singing; 

"Labor is worship !" the wild bee is ringing ; 

Listen ! that eloquent whisper, upspringing, 

Speaks to my soul 

From out Nature's great heart ; 

From the dark cloud 

Flows the life-giving shower ; 

From the rough sod 

Blows the soft breathing flower ; 

(139) 



I^O LABOR. 

From the small insect, 
The rich coral bower; 
Only man, in the plan, 
Shrinks from his part. 

Labor is life ! 'Tis the still water faileth ; 

Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; 

Keep the watch wound. 

For the dark rust assaileth ! 

Flowers droop and die in the stillness of 

noon. 
Labor is glory ! the flying cloud lightens ; 
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; 
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens : 
Play the sweet keys 
Wouldst thou keep them in tune ! 

Labor is rest 

From the sorrows that greet us; 

Rest from all petty 

Vexations that meet us ; 

Rest from sin-promptings 

That ever entreat us ; 

Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. 



LABOR. 141 

Work — and pure slumbers 
Shall wait on thy pillow ; 
Work — thou shalt ride 
Over Care's coming billow. 
Lie not down wearied 
'Neath Woe's weeping willow I 
Work with a stout heart 
And a resolute will ! 

Droop not, though shame, sin, 
And anguish are round thee ! 
Bravely fling off 

The cold chain that hath bound thee ! 
Look to yon Heaven smiling beyond thee. 
Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! 
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly 
Labor ! All labor is noble and holy : 
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy 
God! 

Mrs F. S. Osgood. 





THE BAREFOOT BOY. 




LESSINGS on thee, little man — 
Barefoot Boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned up pantaloons. 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
With the sunshine on thy face. 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace : 
From m}' heart I give thee joy — 
I was once a Barefoot Boy I 
Prince thou art — the grown up man 
Only is Republican. 
Let the milhon-dollared ride I 
Barefoot, trudging at his side. 
Thou hast more than he can buy 
In the reach of ear and eye — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy; — 
Blessings on the^. Barefoot Boy 

(li2) 



THE BAREFOOT BOT. 143 



>>«><c 



Oh for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned in schools ; 
Of the wild-bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild -flower's time and place ; 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell. 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung ; 
Where the whitest lilies blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow ; 
Where the ground-nut trails his vine. 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 
Of the black wasp's cunning way. 
Mason of his walls of clay ; 
Of the architectural plans 
Of gray-hornet artisans ! — 
For, eschewing books and tasks. 
Nature answers all he asks ; 
Hand in hand with her he walks,' 
Face to face with her he talks. 



144 THE BAREFOOT EOT, 

Part and parcel of her joy. 
Blessings on thee, Barefoot Boy ! 

Cheerily, then, m}^ little man, 
■ Live and laugh as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptism of the dew ; 
Every evening, from th}^ feet, 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod — 
Like a colt's, for work be shod. 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy. 
Ere it passes. Barefoot Boy I 

J. G. Whittier. 



^^ 




A CRADLE ELEGY. 



c---i£=t5*>5fe.*'D-'=^i''^ 




ABY, sleep on mother's arm, 
Safe from danger, safe from harm i 
Buzzing flies shall not annoy, — 



Mother's love shall guard her boy. 

One doth watch for thee and me — 
Child and mother guardeth He ; 
Men and children, great and small, 
Keep in His protection all. 



Baby, sleep on mother's arm, 
Safe from danger, safe from harm ; 
Buzzing flies shall not annoy, — 
Mother's love shall guard her boy. 

From tke-German. 

lo (i^s) 




PRINCE PHILLIBERT. 




H, who loves Prince Phillibert? 
Who but myself? 
His foot's in the stiriTip, 
His book's on the shelf; 
His dapple-gray Dobbin 

Attends to his whip. 
And rocks up and down 
On the floor like a ship. 



I went to the pond with him, 

Just like the sea, 
To sail his three-decker, 

That's named after me. 
His cheeks were like roses ; 

He knew all the rocks ; 
He looks like a sailor, 

In gray Knickerbocks. 



J 



r 



M%m 



§1 




/ went to the ^ond ivith Jiim, 

Just like the sea, 
To sail his three-decker, 
Thafs named after me. 
(147) 



148 PRINCE P HILLIBERT, 

Oh, where is the keepsake 

I gave you, my Prince? 
I keep yours in a drawer 

That smells of a quince ; 
So how can I lose it? 

But you, giddy thing ! 
Keep mine in your pocket, 

Mixed up with some string. 

Remember the riddle 
I told YOU last week ; 

And how I forgave you 

That scratch on the cheek ! 

You could not have helped it : 

- You never would strike, 

Intending to do it. 

The girl that you like!. 

You call me Miss Stupid, 

You call me Miss Prue, 
But how do you like me 

In crimson and blue? 
We go partners in findings, 

And money and that; 
You help me in ciphering — 

Look at mv hat ! 



PRINCE PHILLIBERT. 149 

I love you, Prince Phillibert ! 

Who, but myself, 
With your foot in the stirrup, 

Your book on the shelf? 
We call you a Prince, John, 

But, oh, when you crack 
The nuts we go halves in, 

You're my Filbert, Jack ! 

Lilliput Levee. 





THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 




E were crowded in the cabin ; 
Not a soul would dare to sleep 
It was midnight on the waters. 
And a storm was on the deep. 

'Tis a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered by the blast, 

x\nd to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!" 



So we shuddered there in silence ; 

For the stoutest held his breath. 
While the hungry sea was roaring 

And the breakers talked of death. 

(150) 



THE CAPTAIN' S DAUGHTER. 151 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy with his prayers, 

"We are lost ! " the captain shouted, 
As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his httle daughter whispered, 

As she took his icy hand, 
" Isn't God upon the water. 

Just the same as on the land?" 

Then he kissed the little maiden, 
And he spoke in better cheer; 

And we anchored safe in harbor 
When the morn was shining clear ! 

James T. Fields. 





A CHILD'S FIRST LETTER 




j O write to Papa 1 

'Tis an enterprise bold 
For the fairy-like maiden 
Scarce seven years old ; 
And see ! what excitement 

The purpose hath wrought 

In the eyes that when gravest 

Seem playing at thought ! 

The light little figure 

Surprised into rest — 
The smiles that will come 

So demurely represt — 
The long-pausing hand 

On the paper that lies — 
The sweet puzzled look 

In the pretty blue eyes. 

(152) 



A CHILD'S FIRST LETTER. 153 

'Tis a beautiful picture 

Of childhood in calm, 
Of the cheek swelling soft 

O'er the white, dimpled palm, 
Sunk deep in its crimson. 

And just the clear tip "* 

Of an ivory tooth 

On the full under lip. 

How the smooth forehead knits ! 

With her arm round his neck, 
It were easier far 

Than on paper to speak ; 
We must loop up those ringlets ; 

Their rich-falling gold 
Would blot out the story 

As fast as 'twas told. 

And she meant to have made it 

In bed, but it seems 
Sleep melted too soon 

All her thoughts into dreams. 
But hush! 

By that sudden expansion of brow 
Some fairy familiar 

Has whispered it now. 



154 ^ CHILD'S FIRST LETTER, 

How she labors exactly 

Each letter to sign, 
Goes over the whole 

At the end of each line, 
And la3^s down her pen, 

To clap hands with delight. 
When she finds an idea 

Especially bright ! 

At last the small fingers 

Have crept to an end : 
No statesman his letter 

'Twixt nations has penned 
With more sense of serious 

Importance, and few 
In a spirit so earnest. 

So loving and true. 

She smiles at a feat 

So unwonted and grand; 
Draws a very long breath — 

Rubs the cramped little hand. 
May we read it? Oh, yes : 

My sweet maiden, maybe 
One day you will write 

What one only must see. 



A CHILD'S FIRST LETTER. 155 

" But no one must change it ! " 

No, truly it ought 
To keep the fresh bloom 

On each natural thought. 
Who would shake off the dew 

To the rose-leaf that clings? 
Or the delicate dust 

From the butterfly's wings? 

"Is it surely a letter?" 

So bashfully lies uncertainty yet 
In those beautiful eyes, 

And the parted lips' coral 
Is deepening in glow. 

And the eager flush mounts 
To the forehead of snow ; 

'Tis informal, and slightly 
Discursive, we fear ; 

Not a line without love, 
But the love is sincere. 

Unchanged, Papa said, 
He would have it depart. 

Like a bright leaf droping out 
Of her innocent heart. 



156 A CHILD'S FIRST LETTER. 

Great news from her garden, 
Her lamb, and her bird. 

Of mamma, and of baby's 
Last wonderful word; 

With an ardent assurance 
The}^ neither can play. 

Nor learn, nor be happy, 
While he is away. 

"Will he like it?" Ay, will he! 
What letter could seem, 

Though an angel indited, 
So charming to him ? 

How the fortunate poem 
To honor would rise 

That should never be read 
By more critical eyes ! 

Ah, would for poor rhymesters 
Such favor could be. 

As waits, my fair child. 
On thy letter and thee ! 

Household Words 





ONE SWEETLY SOLEMN THOUGHT. 




NE sweetly solemn thought 

Comes to me o'er and o'er 
I am nearer home to-day 
Than I have ever been before. 

Nearer my Father's house, 
Where many mansions be ; 

Nearer the great white throne ; 
Nearer the crystal sea; 



Nearer the bound of life, 

Where we lay our burdens down; 
Nearer leaving the cross ; 

Nearer gaining the crown. 

(157) 



158 ONE SWEETLT SOLEMN THOUGHT. 

Jesus, my perfect trust, 

Strengthen the hand of my faith ; 
Let me feel thee near when I stand 

On the edge of the shore of death ; — 

Feel thee near when my feet 
Are slipping over the brink ; 

For. it may be, I'm nearer home, 
Nearer than now I think. 

Alice Gary. 




LITTLE THINGS 



^-x~~CjCf>£i^-y~^ 




ITTLE drops of water, 
Little grains of sandy 
Make the mighty ocean 
And the soHd land. 

And the little moments, 
Humble though they be. 

Make the mighty ages 
Of eternity. 

So our little errors 

Lead the soul away 
From the paths of virtue 

Oft in sin to stray. 



Little deeds of kindness. 
Little words of love, 

Make our earth an Eden, 
Like the heaven above. 

(159) 




LOVE OF COUNTRY. 




REATHES there a man with soul 
so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
This is my own, my native land? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned. 
From wandering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well, 
For him no Minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he spnmg, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Walter Scott. 
(160) 




JVkose heart hath ne'er ■within him burned., 
As home his footsteps he hath tur?ied, 
From ivanderiiig 07i a foreign strand. 
II (IGl) 




LOVE THY MOTHER 




OVE thy mother, little one ! 
Kiss and clasp her neck again, - 
Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one ! 



Gaze upon her living eyes, 

And mirror back her love for thee, — 
Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs 

To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes ! 



Press her lips, then, while they glow 
With love that they have often told, — 

Hereafter thou ma3'st press in woe 

And kiss them till thine own are cold. 
Press her lips, then, while they glow 

(1G2) 




Love thy mother, little one ! 

Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 
Hereafter she may have a son 

Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
(1(53) 



164 LOVE THT MOTHER. 

00>»<00 

Oh, revere her raven hair ! 

Although it be not silver-gray, 
Too early, Death, led on by care. 

May snatch, save one dear lock, away. 
Oh, revere her raven hair. 

Pray for her at eve and morn. 

That Heaven may long the stroke defer - 
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn, 

When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn. 

Thomas Hood. 





A SONG OF PEACE 




EACEFULLY wanders star on star, 
Up in the deep blue heaven, 
Far from tumult and far from 
war, — 
Yonder, where rest is given. 



Peacefully flows the silver brook, 

Here through the fresh green meadows 

And the bright stars like diamonds look. 
Mirrored among its shadows. 



"Children, dear children, live in peace. 

Soundeth from earth to heaven ; 
For until strife and quarrels cease, 

Never can Peace be given. 

(165) 



i66 



A SO^^G OF PEACE. 



Peacefulh% then, should children dwell ; 

Each one should love his brother, 
Al\va}'s ready all strife to quell, 

And to forgive each other. 

Then will our life, a stream of love. 

Glide like a quiet river, 
Till we find, o'er the stars above, 

Peace that endures forever. 

From the Genna?i by H. W. Dulchcn. 





NEW ENGLAND. 




AND of the forest and the rock, 
Of dark-blue lake, and mighty 
river. 

Of mountains reared aloft to mock 
The storm's career, the lightning's shock, — 

My own green land forever ! 
Land of the beautiful and brave. 
The freeman's home, the martyr's grave ; 
The nursery of giant men. 
Whose deeds have linked with every glen, 
And ever}^ hill, and every stream. 
The romance of some warrior-dream : 
Oh, never may a son of thine. 
Where'er his wandering steps incline, 
Forget the sky which bent above 
His childhood like a dream of love ; 

(1G7) 



1 68 uXB W ENGL A ND . 

The stream beneath the green hill flowing, 
The broad-armed trees above it growing, 
The clear breeze through the foliage blowing ; 
Or hear, unmoved, the taunt of scorn 
Breathed o'er the brave New^ England born ; 
Or mark the stranger's jaguar-hand 

Disturb the ashes of tlw dead, — 
The buried glory of a land 

Whose soil with noble blood is red, — 
Nor feel resentment, like a brand 

Unsheathing from his fier}' heart ! 

John G. Whit tier. 





A MOTHER'S JOYS 



'VE gear enough, I've gear enough, 
I've bonnie bairnies three ; 
Their welfare is a mine of wealth, 
Their love a crown to me. 
The joj^s, the dear delights they bring, 

I'm sure I'd not agree 
To change for every worldly good 




That could be given me. 



Let others flaunt in Fashion's ring. 

Seek rank and high degree ; 
I wish them joy, with all my heart, — 

They're envied not by me. 
I would not give those loving looks, 

The heaven of those smiles. 
To bear the proudest name — to be 

The Queen of Britain's isles. 



170 A MO TUB J?' S yOl^S. 

My sons are like their father dear, 

And all the neighbors tell 
That my young blue-eyed daughter 's just 

The picture o' mj^sel'. 
Oh, blessings on m}^ darlings all ! 

They're dear as summer's shine ; 
My heart runs o'er with happiness 

To think that they are mine ! 

At evening, morning, every hour, 

I've an unchanging prayer. 
That Heaven would my bairnies. bless, — 

My hope, my joy, my care. 
I've gear enough, I've gear enough, 

I've bonnie bairnies three ; 
Their welfare is a mine of wealth. 

Their love a crown to me. 

Will I a in Fcrsruysofi . 




^^^^^J^ 




•^r^:!^ 



BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES 




UTTERCUPS and Daisies, 
Oh ! the pretty flowers ! 
Coming ere the spring-time, 
To tell of sunny hours. 
While the trees are leafless, 
While the fields are bare, 
Buttercups and Daisies 
Spring up everywhere. 



Little hardy flow^ers. 

Like to children poor. 
Playing in their sturdy health. 

By their mother's door ; 
Purple with the north wind. 

Yet alert and bold, 
Fearing not, and caring not, 

Though they be a-cold. 

(171) 



172 BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 

What to them is weather? 

What are stormy showers? 
Buttercups and Daisies, 

Are these human flowers ! 
He who gave them hardship, 

And a Hfe of care, 
Gave them likewise hardj^ strength, 

And patient hearts to bear ! 

Welcome, yellow Buttercups ! 

Welcome, Daisies white ! 
Ye are in my spirit 

Visioned, a delight ! 
Coming ere the spring-time 

Of sunny hours to tell. 
Speaking to our hearts of Him 

Who doeth all things well. 

Anon. 





THE ORIGIN OF DIMPLES. 




NE morning, in the blossoming May, 
A child was sporting 'mongst the 
flowers, 

Till, wearied out with his restless play, 
He laid him down to dream away 

The long and scorching noontide hours. 



At length an angel's unseen form 

Parted the air with a conscious thrill, 
And poised itself, like a presence warm. 

Above the boy, who was slumbering still. 
Never before had so fair a thing 
Stayed the swift speed of his shining wing ; 
And, gazing down, with a wonder rare, 
On the beautiful face of the dreamer there, 

(173) 



174 ^^^ ORIGIN OF DIMPLES. 

The angel stooped to kiss the cnild, 
When, lo ! at the touch the baby smiled — 
And just where the unseen lips had pressed, 
A dimple lay in its sweet unrest, — 
Sporting upon his cheek of rose 
Like a ripple waked from its light repose 
On a streamlet's breast when the soft wind 

blows. 
And the angel passed from the sleeping one. 
For his mission to earth that day was done. 
A fair face bent above the boy ; 

It must have been the boy's own mother, 
For never would such pride and ]oy 

Have lit the face of any other. 
And w^hile she gazed, the quiet air 
Grew tremulous with a whispered prayer : 
And now it ceased, and the boy awoke. 
And a smile of love o'er his features broke. 
The mother marked, with a holy jo}'. 
The dimpling cheek of her darling boy, 
And caught him up, w^hile a warm surprise 
Stole like a star to her midnight eyes ; 
And she whispered low, as she gently smiled, 
" I know^ an angel has kissed my child ! " 

C. A. Briggs. 



TO MY GODCHILD, ALICE. 



LICE, Alice, little Alice, 

My new christened baby Alice, 
Can there ever rhymes be found 
To express my wishes for thee, 
In a silvery flowing, worthy 

Of that silver sound? 
Bonnie Alice, Lady Alice, 

Sure, this sweetest name must be 
A true omen to thee, Alice, 




Of a life's long melody 



Alice, Alice, litde Alice, 

Ma3^st thou prove a golden chalice, 

Filled with holiness like wine ; 
With rich blessings running o'er. 
Yet replenished evermore 

From a fount divine. 
Alice, Alice, little Alice, 

When this future comes to thee, 
In thy young life's brimming chalice 

Keep some drops of balm for me ! 

(175) 



176 TO MT GODCHILD, ALICE 



Alice, Alice, little Alice, 

Mayst thou grow a goodly palace, 

Fitly framed from roof to floors ; 
Pure unto the inmost centre, 
While high thoughts like angels enter 

At the open doors. 
x\lice. Alice, little Alice, 

When this beauteous sight I see, 
In thy woman-heart's wide palace 

Keep one nook of love for me. 

Alice, Alice, litde Alice, 

Sure the verse halts out of malice 

To thoughts it feeblv bears, 
And thv name's sott echoes, ranging 
From quaint rhyme to rl^-me are changing 

Into silent prayers. 
God be with thee, little Alice ! 

Of His bounteousness may He 
Fill the chalice, build the palace. 

Here, unto eternit}' ! 

Mrs. Mulock (Crai'k). 





BARBARA FRIETCHIE 




P from the meadows, rich with 
corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 



The clustered fires of Frederick stand, 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep. 

Fair as the garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall. 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,- 



Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

12 (17') 



178 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 

Forty flags, with their silver stars, 
Forty flags, with crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one ! 

Up rose Barbara Frietchie then, 

Bowed with her fourscore years and ten, — 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down. 

In her attic window the staff' she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat, left and right. 
He glanced: the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt!" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
"Fire!" — out blazed the rifle blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 



BARBARA FR lETCHIE. 179 

Quick, as it fell from the broken staff^ 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out on the window sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if you must, this gray old head ; " 
But spare your country's flag ! " she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame. 
Over the face of the leader came. 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word. 

" Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long, through Frederick street, 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tossed 
Over the heads of the rebel host; 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 



l8o BARBARA FRIETCH IE. 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave 
Flag of Freedom and Union wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ! 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below at Frederick town. 

J. G. Whittier. 





LITTLE CHILDREN 




PORTING through the forest wide, 
Playing by the water side, 
Wandering o'er the heathy fells, 
Down within the woodland dells, 
All among the mountains wild 
Dwelleth many a little child ! 
In the baron's hall of pride, 
By the poor man's fireside, 
'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, 
Little children may be seen. 

(181) 



l82 LITTLE CHILDREN, 

Like the flowers that spring up fair, 
Bright and countless everywhere ! 
In the far isles of the main, 
In the desert's lone domain. 
In the savage mountain-glen, 
'Mong the tribes of swarthy men, 
Whereso'er the sun hath shone 
On a league of peopled ground, 
Little children may be found ! 
Blessings on them ! They in me 
Move a kindly sympathy. 
With their wishes, hopes, and fears ; 
With their laughter and their tears ; 
With their wonder so intense. 
And their small experience ! 
Little children, not alone 
On the wide earth are 3'e known, 
'Mid its labors and its cares, 
'Mid its sufferings and its snares ; 
Free from sorrow, free from strife, 
In the world of love and life. 
Where no sinful thing hath trod — 
In the presence of 3'our God, 
Spotless, blameless, glorified — 
Little children, ye abide ! 

Mary Hozvitt. 




THE LITTLE BROTHER. 




ITTLE brother in a cot, 
Baby, baby ; 
Shall he have a pleasant lot? 
May be, may be ! 



Little Brother in a nap, 

Baby, baby ! 
Bless his tiny little cap ! 

Noise far awa}^ be ! 



With a rattle in his hand, 

Baby, baby ! 
Dreaming — who can understand 

Dreams like this, what they be? 

(183) 



184 THE LITTLE BROTHER. 

When he wakes, kiss him twice, 
Then talk, and gay be ; 

Little cheeks, soft and nice, 
Baby, baby ! 

Pretty little pouting boy, 

Baby, baby ! 
Let his life, with sweet and toy, 

Pleasure all and play be ! 

Seven white angels watching here. 

Baby, baby ! 
Pray be kind to baby dear, 

Pra}' be, pray be ! 

Little Brother in a cot, 

Baby, baby ! 
He shall have a pleasant lot — 

Must — not may be! 

Lilli^ut Levee. 








THE ORGAN 



KNOW the Organ is a living thing ; 
He speaks on Sundays when they 
sing, 

And when the choristers intone ; 
But all the week he stays alone, 
And meditates with a patient mind 
On the thoughts the people have left behind, 
Thousands and thousands in their breath, 
Though the church is empty, and still as 

death. 
I should like to creep into the church at night, 
And visit him there alone in his might. 
When the moon through the picture-window 

gleams. 
And paints the wonderful creature's dreams. 

(185) 



l86 THE ORGAN. 

Sometimes, when I sit and look at him, 
My heart beats thick, and the church grows 

dim ! 
He speaks : I look at the pipes on his face, 
And I think he will move, move, move from 

his place ; 
And I think the roof of the church will rise ; 
The cold floor shakes with fear as it lies ; 
My body seems to have lost its weight — 
We all shall float, like clouds to the skies. 
When the beautiful Organ comes marching 

dowm , 
And the church will be larger than any town ; 
For his voice is a lifting voice, and great; 
The voice of a creature that moves on straight, 
Like a driving light in awful dream. 
Or a ghostly ship on a ghostly stream. 

Lillipiit Levee. 




CRADLE SONG 



ULLABY, Lullaby, 

Baby must sleep ; — 
Now when the daylight dies. 
Closed be the little eyes ; 
Rest till the sun arise ; 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 

Baby must sleep ; — 
Peaceful shall rest thy head ; 
Noiseless shall be the tread 
Round our dear darling's bed, — 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 

Baby must sleep ; 
No cause for anxious fears ; 
Not yet for thee the years 
When life must have its tears ; 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

(187) 



l88 CRADLE SONG, 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 
Baby must sleep ; — 

Baby by Heaven blest ! 

Cares , trouble not thy breast; 

Nought shall disturb thy rest; 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 
Baby must sleep ; — 
Mother will watch and pray, 
Danger may keep away, 
Until the dawn of da}^ ; 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 
Baby must sleep ; — 
Forms that we cannot see, 
Loving, are watching thee ; 
Thus may it ever be ! 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, Lullaby, 
Baby must sleep ; — 
God answers from the skies. 
Mother's fond prayers that rise ; 
Baby must close his eyes ; — 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Samuel Burnham, 




LIFE'S WORK 



LL around ns, fair with flowers, 
Fields of beauty sleeping lie ; 
All around us clarion voices 
Call to duty stern and high. 

Thankfully we will rejoice in 
All the beauty God has given ; 

But beware it does not win us 

From the work ordained of Heaven. 

Following every voice of mercy, 
With a trusting, loving heart, 

Let us in life's earnest labor 
Still be sure to do our part. 

Now, to-day, and not to-morrow, 
Let us work with all our might, 

Lest the wretched faint and perish 
In the coming stormy night. 

Now, to-day, and not to-morrow, 

Lest before to-morrow's sun 
We, too, mournfully departing. 

Shall have left our work undone. 

Anon* 
(189) 




MY BROTHER. 



JHO often with me kindly played, 
And all ray little playthings made, 
M}^ kite and ball — though still 
unpaid? 

My Brother. 

Who made a sled when winter came. 
With little ropes to draw the same. 
And on its sides carved out my name? 

My Brother. 

And who was it that taught to me 
The way to read my A, B, C, 
And marked them on the slate for me? 

My Brother. 

Who gathered apples from the tree, 
Chestnuts and walnuts too, for me? 
Who cheerful did all this but thiee, 

My Brother? 

Then may I ever grateful be 
For all thy kindness shown to me. 
And ne'er withdraw my love from thee, 

My Brother. 

Jane Taylor. 

(190) 




MY SISTER. 



HO held the tempting cherry nigh, 
And alwaj's tried to make me 
crjs 

And stuck the scissors in my eye? 

My Sister! 

Who threw m}- playthings on the floor, 
And broke my doll behind the door. 
And my best ribbons alwa3^s wore? 

My Sister! 

Who pinched my kitten's ear or tail. 
And ducked her in the water pail, 
And laughed at her unearthl}^ wail? 

My Sister! 

Who spilled her coflee in my lap, 
And tore mamma's new breakfast cap. 
And blurred with ink my Atlas map? 

My Sister! 

Who's glad dear sister's married now, 
And not at home to raise a row? 
I know who's happy, anyhow ! 

Her Sister ! 

Anon. 

(191) 




CLEAN CLARA. 




HAT! not know our Clean Clara? 
Why, the folks in hot Sahara, 
And the cold Esquimaux, 
Our little Clara know ! 
Clean Clara, the Poet sings, 
Cleaned a hundred thousand things ! 

She cleaned the keys of the harpsichord. 
She cleaned the hilt of the family sword. 
She cleaned my lady, she cleaned my lord, 
All the pictures in their frames. 
Knights with daggers, and stomachered 

dames — 
Cecils, Godfreys, Montforts, and Grsemes, 
Winnifreds — all those nice old names ! 



She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock, 
She cleaned the spring of a secret lock. 



CLEAN CLARA. 193 

She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cup- 
board ; 
All the books she India-rubbered ! * 
She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place, 
She cleaned some very old family lace; 
The Countess of Minever came to her, 
"Pray, my dear, will you clean my fur?" 
All her cleanings are admirable ; 
To count your teeth you will be able, 
If you look in the walnut table. 

She cleaned the tent-stitch, and the sampler ; 

She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler ; 

Joseph going down in the pit. 

And the Shunamite woman with the boy in 
a fit; 

You saw the reapers, not in the distance. 

And Elisha coming- to the child's assistance. 

With the house on the wall, that was built 
for the prophet. 

The chair, the bed, and the bolster of it; 

The eyebrows all had a twirl reflective, 

Just like an eel : to spare invective, 

There was plenty of color, but no perspec- 
tive. 

13 



194 CLEAN CLARA. 

However, Clara cleaned it all, 
With a curious lamp that hangs in the hall ; 
She cleaned the drops of the chandeliers; 
Madam in mittens was moved to tears. 

She cleaned the cage of the cockatoo, 
The oldest bird that ever grew ; 
I should say a thousand years old would do, — 
I'm sure he looked it: but nobody knew. 
She cleaned the china, she cleaned the delf. 
She cleaned the baby, she cleaned herself! 
To-morrow morning she means to try 
To clean the cobwebs from the sky ; 
Some people say the girl wdll rue it. 
But my belief is, she w^ill do it. 

So I've made up my mind to be there to see ; 
There's a beautiful place in the w^alnut tree ; 
The bough is as firm as a solid rock ; 
She brings out her broom at six o'clock. 

Lillipiit Levee. 




THE PEDLER'S CARAVAN 



WISH I lived in a caravan, 
With a horse to drive, hke a ped- 
ler man ! 

Where he comes from nobody knows, 
Or where he goes to, but on he goes ! 

His caravan has windows two. 

And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes 

through ; 
He has a wife, with a baby brown, 
And they go riding from town to town. 

Chairs to mend, and delf to sell ! 
He clashes the basins like a bell ; 
Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order. 
Plates, with the alphabet round their border. 

The roads are brown, the sea is green, 
But his house is just like a bathing machine ; 
The world is round, and he can ride. 
Rumble, and splash, to the other side ! 

(-95) 



196 GOD'S GOODNESS. 

With the pedler man I should like to roam, 
And write a book when I came home ; 
And all the people would read my book, 
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook ! 

Lilli;put Levee. 



"■ ' *— K^^^^^^tisiLSc^^-^*^^^^^" 



GOD'S GOODNESS. 

HILD, when, with careful tending 
hand, 
Amid the flowers you go, 
Forget not Him whose watchfulness 
Sends rain on all below. 

The same great Hand that guides the stars, 
Pours down the fruitful shower; 

Then let the rain-drops speak His love. 
The stars proclaim His power. 

From the German. 





BIRDIE, BIRDIE 




IRDIE, Birdie, will you, pet? 
Summer is far and far away yet. 
You'll have silken quilts and a 
velvet bed, 
And a pillow of satin for your head ! " 

" I'd rather sleep in the ivy wall ; 
No rain comes through, though I hear it fall; 
The sun peeps gay at dawn of day, 
And I sing, and wing away, away ! " 

(ion 



198 BIRDIE, BIRDIE. 

"Oh, Birdie, Birdie! will you, pet? 
Diamond-stones, and amber, and jet, 
We'll string on a necklace fair and fine, 
To please this pretty bird of mine ! " 

" Oh I thanks for diamonds, and thanks for 

jet ; 
But here is something daintier yet, — 
K feather necklace round and round. 
That I wouldn't sell for a thousand pound ! " 

"Oh, Birdie, Birdie! won't you, pet? 
We'll buy you a dish of silver fret, 
x\ golden cup, and an ivory seat, 
And carpets soft beneath your feet ! " 

" Can running water be drunk from gold ? 
Can a silver dish the forest hold? 
A rocking twig is the finest chair, 
And the softest path is through the air, — 
Good by, good by, to my lady fair ! " 

Wm. Alliugham. 





SLUMBER ON, BABY DEAR. 

JLUMBER on, Baby dear; 

Do not hear thy mother's sigh 
Breathed for him far away, , 
Whilst she sings thy lullaby ! 

Slumber on ; o'er thy sleep 

Loving eyes will watch with care ; 

In thy dreams may thou see 

God's own angels hovering here. 

Slumber on : may sweet sleep 

Softly on thine eyelids lie, 
While I watch, chanting low, 

Thy sweet, soothing lullaby. 

Slumber on, happy child; 

May life's stor«is pass gently by. 
When this voice, hushed and still. 

No more sings thy lullaby ! 

In this heart, torn with grief. 
Lies a doting love for thee : 
ather, come, bless our child, 
Sweetly slumbering on my knee. 

From the Italian by H. C. Watson. 

(190) 




A WOOD-NOTE 

OME ye, come ye, to the green, 
green wood : 
Loudly the blackbird is singing ; 
The squirrel is feasting on blossom and bud, 
And the curling fern is springing : 
Here ye may sleep, 
In the moss so deep, 
Vv'hile the noon is so warm and so weary, 
And sweetly awake, 
As the sun through the brake 
Bids the robin and white-throat sing cheery. 

The quicken is tufted with blossoms of snow, 

And is throwing its perfume around it ; 
The wryneck replies to the cuckoo's halloo, 
For joy that again she has found it; 

The jay's red breast 

Peeps over the nest, 
In the midst of the crab-blossoms blushing : 

And the call of the pheasant 

Is frequent and pleasant 
When all other calls are hushing. 

HoTvtit. 
(200) 




Here ye may sleej)^ in tJie moss so deep, 
While the noon is so xvarm and so %veary- 
(201) 




EASTER CAROL 



ET the merry church bells ring; 
Hence with tears and sighing ; 
Frost and cold have fled from 
spring ; 
Life hath conquered dying. 
Flowers are smiling, fields are gay, 

Sunny is the weather ; 
With our risen Lord to-day, 
All things rise together. 

Let the birds sing out again 

From their leafy chapel, 
Praising Him with whom in vain 

Sin hath sought to grapple. 
Sounds of joy come loud and clear, 

As the breezes flutter : 
" He arose, and is not here ! " 

Is the strain they utter. 

Mourning hearts must needs be gay. 

Out of sorrow's prison, 

Since the very grave can say, 

"Christ — he hath arisen!" 

Anon. 

(202) 



BABY 



PART I. 




H, when did Baby come? 
When half the world was dumb 
Babe was dressed in white, 
In the black, dead night, 

Oh, Baby came from where? 
That place is very fair; 
The middle of the skies, 
The heart of Paradise. 

Oh, who sent Baby here? 
It was an angel, dear, 
A spirit of purple flame ; 
Love is that angel's name. 

Oh, who was Baby's shield, 
Down from the heavenly field, 
Along the pathway dim? 
One of the cherubim ; 
His sword he took with him. 

(203) 



204 



BABT. 

His golden head he bowed 
To cleave the hindering cloud; 
A seraph shone behind, 
Singing through the wind. 

Singing and shining thus, 
They brought the gift to us. 
And in the dead of night 
The child was wrapped in white. 

O God, — who art the Lord 
Of the cherub with the sword. 
And the seraph with the lamp, — 
Let both of them encamp 

Beside the hushing tent 
Of the creature that is sent 
From the middle of the sky, 
To guard, to beautify ; — 

To make the inaudible breath 
More terrible than death. 
And light the unconscious face, 
As from a heavenly place, 
With the wonder of thy ways. 

Lilli;put Levee. 




BABY. 



v.-r-^^-<«f>-£>T-^ 



PART II. 




H, why are your beautiful eyes so red, 

Fair Lady? 

They have taken my baby out of 

my bed, 

My Baby ! 

Speak soft ; your babe has gone up to God, 

Fair Lady. 
His little feet, little feet were not shod, 

My Baby ! 
But the road that leads to the heavenly town 
Is all over clouds as soft as down, 

Fair Lady. 
The way of the clouds is long and dim ; 
I would I were there to carry him, 

My Baby ! 
He will be holpen by cherubs bright, 
A fair new star for a lamp they light, 

Sweet Lady ! 

('205) 



2o6 , BABT. 

The way to the heavenly town is long; 
I would I could sing him a cradle song, 

My Baby. 
Our Lord stands waiting at heaven's door, 
And many a one gone on before, 

Sweet Lady. 
Oh, he will feel strange in the heavenly street, 

My Baby. 
But the happy innocents he will meet, 

Fair Lady. 
For the comely food he will cry, and gaze. 

My Baby. 
They will make him a feast in the heavenly 

place ; 
Our Lord will be there to speak the grace, 

Fair Lady. 
The heavenly town will grow so dear, 
He will forget his mother here. 

My Baby. 
He shall think of his mother in all the cheer, 
He will not forget in a thousand year. 

Fair Lady. 

Lilliinit Levee. 




WEARINESS 




H, little feet! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes 
and fears ; 

Must ache and bleed beneath your load ; 
I nearer to the wayside inn, 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin, 
Am wear}', thinking of your road. 



Oh, little hands ! that, weak or strong, 
Have still to serve, or rule so long. 

Have still so long to give or ask, — 
I, who so much with book and pen, 
Have toiled among my fellow-men. 

Am weary, thinking of 3^our task. 

(207) 



2o8 WEARINESS. 

Oh, little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish heat, 

Such limitless and strong desires ; 
Mine, that so long has glowed and burned 
With passions into ashes turned. 

Now covers and conceals its fires. 

Oh, little souls ! as pure and white, 
And crj^stailine as ra3^s of light 

Direct from heaven, their source divine ; 
Refracted through the mists of years. 
How red my setting sun appears ! 

How lurid looks this soul of mine ! 

Henry W. Lo?igfellozu. 




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